


This Nightmare You're In (Isn't Over, Yet)

by Veldritch



Category: Daredevil (TV), The Defenders (Marvel TV)
Genre: Crime, F/M, Gen, Journalism, Moral Dilemmas, Parental Abuse, Plotty, i follow the comic book in some places more than the shows have, post DD season 2, take the rating seriously
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-16
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2018-06-02 11:38:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 26
Words: 105,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6564670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Veldritch/pseuds/Veldritch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Karen Page decides to get Wilson Fisk out of her life once and for all, and it may mean risking another chance on Frank Castle. An idea for a possible plotline for season 3, which will of course be super long because I am incapable of writing anything short. Original flavor, so expect violence, swearing, lots of plot, and character angst. The romance angle in it is primarily character interaction.</p><p>Also, this may involve me taking out my spite on Frank Miller and Kevin Smith quite a bit, so have fun with that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. See you around, Frank

**Author's Note:**

> I should not be doing this. I have too many writing projects going on as it is. This ship is unstable (but sooo good for character development I can't help it). Plus I will get too attached to this story and I will be disappointed by season 3 if it doesn't include any of my ideas. But then I wrote 12,000 words for it in 4 days and that was kind of the point of no return, right? Reposting this because the first time AO3 ate a chunk of it in between preview and posting, no idea why, but that turned out fine because I wasn't satisfied with it anyway and wanted to tinker. Then again I am NEVER satisfied, and please feel free to leave criticism.
> 
> Every fanfic I write is an exercise in something, and this one is in sympathetically writing POVs and characters that I don't necessarily agree with.

Karen had been picking up some heavy reading lately. She’s always avoided it in the past, preferring non-fiction or something escapist and light. Back when Nelson and Murdock had been the greatest thing in her life, she’d gone on a binge of Grishom novels, and every young handsome attorney taking on the system was cast with Matt Murdock in her imagination. In retrospect it was embarrassing. Not that she’d fallen so hard for Matt; that was nothing to be ashamed of. Just that she now realized Foggy fit that role better.

Now she was reading books she’d avoided in high school, the heavy kind teachers tended to gush about because they were supposedly deep. _Crime and Punishment_ , for example. She’d chosen it up on a whim, and found it had far too much relevance to her life. The lead killed the innocent witness to a murder, the descriptions of panic over hiding evidence. It wasn’t perfect, obviously, it had been written over a hundred and fifty years ago, but it was morally complex. Gray.

Karen needed gray. Her entire life felt gray lately.

She set down her copy, sliding an old receipt in between pages to keep her place. She felt like crap. Ever since Matt had explained his entire life story to her - though Karen was certain he’d _still_ edited large parts out - she hadn't been sleeping well. Especially knowing the part where he’d nearly blown his cover to Fisk.

Across the street, the sign on the dry cleaner’s had just turned off, indicating an end to its normal operating hours. She’d been there that morning, dropping off a blouse, scoping it out. It was run, on the first floor, by a lone elderly Romanian woman who spoke next to no English. Utterly innocent, until you wondered how she ran the entire place by herself or managed the books.

But the investigation of the facility a week ago hadn’t turned up the trafficked garment workers that Karen had traced to the building, and the store had quickly returned to normal. She wasn’t convinced, obviously, or else she wouldn’t be here, near midnight, ready to commit a little breaking and entering.

Karen had dressed in dark clothes, for low visibility, her blonde hair tucked under a black stocking cap. That was also for the cold; even with her heavy wool coat the late December weather was seeping into her bones. She slipped tightly along the edge of the building, down to the steps that descended to a little side-door that looked rusted shut with disuse. The perfect place to stage her entrance.

She’d purchased a simple acid to break off the lock (working at the Bulletin had already given her contact with so many interesting people) and it worked like a charm. Getting the door open without making too much noise took a little more work and some grease, but Karen was thin enough that she could slip in a narrow gap. The area around the door was stacked with packed boxes that kept that corner of the basement dark enough to slip in, keeping low.

From beyond the shadowy outlines of the boxes came the glaring lights hanging over whirring sewing machines. The laborers – Hispanic, Caribbean, maybe some Vietnamese too – were hunched over their work. Most of them were women, more than a few were children. Patrolling the walls were armed guards, who, unlike their laborers, were all muscular white men. Scary looking, too. Karen had her phone out in an instant, its audio and flash turned off, snapping pictures as quickly as she could between the gaps in the boxes. Her adrenaline was spiking at the sight of the weapons; she'd left her .380 buried in the bottom of her sock drawer as always when on the job, and she wouldn’t have wanted to start a gunfight in an enclosed space anyway.

She took the candid photos for almost half an hour, making sure to get close-ups of the weapons, the tired, frustrated faces, and the mildew that was settled into the wall. She was ready to pack it in when one of the guards’ walky-talkies squawked. She couldn’t make out exactly what it said, but he replied back “Okay, we’ll move ‘em out.”

Shit, had someone seen her car out front? Was there another raid incoming? The traffickers began shoving the laborers in their backs, and they packed up both their stitching and their machines onto rolling flats, wheeling them up a ramp and out a larger back entrance. Realizing that they’d be coming for the boxes she was currently hiding behind (they’d left the basement bare the last time they’d cleared out), she cut a hasty retreat back outside.

Unfortunately the door made too much noise as it shut behind her, and she could hear a voice on the other side ask “What was that?” Cursing inwardly, she ran up the stairs, but realized that crossing the street would leave her completely visible to any followers. Instead, she ducked behind a dumpster in the alley, holding her breath as a guard came up the steps and looked around, his finger poised on the trigger of his drawn weapon. He peered up and down the alley before shouting back, “Must’ve been a rat.”

Karen breathed a sigh of relief, then sucked it in again when she saw that, from her new vantage point, she could see the laborers being loaded into a large idling van. She had the presence of mind to take a few more photos of the process. The traffickers were urging them along, with shouts of “Move it! Move it!” until every one of them was sitting crammed together on the floor inside. Two of the traffickers closed the doors, then made to move to the front cabin.

That was when the van took off with a squeal of tires. It clearly wasn’t what was supposed to be happening, and the guards unslung their weapons, ready to fire on the escaping vehicle.

They probably would have, too, if the first of them hadn’t had his head blown off in one clean shot.

That made them forget all about the lost van and the lost workers as they swung about in the direction of the gunfire. In that instant of confusion, another one of them lost his face.

Karen found what they were looking for before any of them did. Perched on the fire escape two stories up was a very familiar figure in a black trench and battle armor, and the adrenaline drive she’d been experiencing since starting her investigation shot into overkill. It made the nausea she’d been experiencing in the wake of the two headshots worse, too.

Once the traffickers began opening fire on him, Frank Castle dropped from the escape, almost catlike, and let loose a barrage of bullets that hit two more men before the rest fled behind his line of sight around the corner. In the momentary silence, Karen heard him make a “ _tssk_ ” noise, as he reached for his belt to reload. The traffickers rebounded and came out guns blazing, and that was when he ducked behind a dumpster to finish loading the new rounds.

The same dumpster she was behind.

His eyes filled those deep-set sockets of his the second he saw her, and his hands paused over the gun. She hadn’t seen him this close since the woods and the Blacksmith, and he’d been a lot more beat up then. And she had no idea how he was going to react to her being here now.

He pointed a finger across the alley. “My van. Run. I’ll cover you.”

She did, without hesitation. He followed behind her, as promised, walking backwards, gun strafing the area behind her. Karen couldn’t hear any bullets hitting flesh, so maybe the traffickers had the good sense to run when they knew they were outgunned.

His vehicle was a large, unmarked panel van, and she fumbled with the side door, finally getting the latch and yanking it open. A black pit bull met her on the other side, growling at her menacingly. She froze temporarily, but decided she’d risk its teeth over the bullets outside. She crawled into the van, and its growling increased, but then Frank had jumped inside next to her, slamming the door shut behind them. “Down, Max.”

The dog relaxed at this, and Frank stepped over it to the front seat, dropping his gun next to him and starting the engine.

Karen stood, thinking she’d join him.

“Stay in the back!” he barked. Karen flinched and sat back down, unnerved. Then she caught his eye darting to his rearview mirror. “Safer.”

A rain of bullets on the side of the car dimpled the walls, confirming that the van's siding was reinforced. It still made Karen shriek, though, which set the dog – Max – to whimpering. She reached over to rub him behind the ears. The way he calmed down so quickly made her wonder how many of these operations he’d accompanied Frank on.

The van took off with a jolt, careening down the alley and into the street. With no windows in the back, Karen couldn’t see a thing outside, but she could hear the scream of wheels behind them, and more gunfire. They were being pursued, and great job, Karen, way to get yourself in danger yet again.

There was a sharp turn that sent her sliding across the floor of the van, and Max scrambled to keep himself steady. Car horns and the weaving of Frank’s driving made her realize they must be on a major street now, and she wondered if they’d lost their pursuers, until another volley hit the back of van.

Then she heard the sirens, and realized the chase had just gotten worse.

Officially, of course, Frank Castle was dead. The coroner had written him off after the explosion on the ship, and reports of the Punisher’s survival were just urban legends. No photos, no proof, a lot of hearsay. There’d been some move made to reconsider his death early on, but after a cop tried to claim he’d seen a civilian murdered by Frank, only to have phone video reveal he’d shot the unarmed man himself in cold blood, certain authorities had decided that admitting the Punisher was real would give too many assholes a scapegoat.

That didn’t mean that every cop in New York City didn’t want him back behind bars. And what would they think of her, riding in the back with him?

They veered again, to a wail of angry horns, and then there was an agonizing squeal of rubber on pavement and a loud crash. The sirens were behind them, now, and Karen got up from her sprawl on the floor. “What the hell just happened?”

“Cops decided to stop the assholes who were actually shooting,” Frank replied, though in spite of losing them, he hadn’t slowed down their flight. After a minute, their route suddenly stopped zigzagging, became straight, and she realized they must be driving along the river. She wanted to ask where the hell he was taking her, but the grim look on his face made her reluctant to voice questions while their escape was still in question.

It was a long stretch – they had to have passed much of the Upper West Side, which meant…Inwood? He was taking her to Inwood? Christ, that might be a good place for someone like him to hide, but that didn’t mean _she_ wanted to be there.

When the van swung to a halt, Frank exited and rolled open the door for her. Max lifted his head and began panting when he saw his owner, and Frank plucked a biscuit out of a trench pocket and tossed it to the dog. He didn’t say a word to Karen, just jabbed a thumb to signal she should exit.

They were in a park, probably Inwood Hill, and it was even colder out here away from buildings. Karen pulled her coat around her tight and glanced around, trying to get her bearings.

“Go call a cab.”

She turned, seeing that Frank was closing up the van, already ready to leave. She gaped at first, then a fury rose up in her exhausted veins.

“Wait, that’s _it_? I haven’t seen you in two months, and all I get is a ‘call a cab’?”

He glanced over his shoulder at her, face cold. “What, you want to have a sweet little conversation out here with the Punisher or something? Call a cab.”

“You—I’m not leaving until I get some answers out of you! Who was in that van? How did you know when they’d be leaving with the workers? Did you rescue them or was this just a hit?”

“No point trying to get answers out of a dead man.” He’d turned away from her, though he hadn’t taken any steps to move.

That stung. Her grip on her coat tightened as she contained her frustration and hurt. “Fine. Fine, so I guess I’m dead to you too, huh, Frank? Right. Right, I’ll just call the cab—”

She had turned to go, to storm off and write him out of her life, again, when he suddenly spoke up behind her.

“I read your articles. All of ’em.”

Karen paused. She wanted to turn around, to see his expression, but something in her was worried, nervous, scared. “Really? What do you think?”

“First one started cheesy as shit, but they got better.”

That made her smile, and she risked facing him again. His eyes were fixed on her now, though his body was towards the truck, as if torn between whether he should stay or go.

“They’ve been popular. Even the cheesy one. You have a higher approval rating than the NYPD at this point.”

“And what do your lawyer pals think of that?”

Karen began to walk closer to him, cautiously. “Well, Foggy says I’m debasing myself with sensationalism, and maybe he’s right, but it sells papers. Matt…Matt and I haven’t talked much recently. He left the firm and he’s been busy with…his other job, I guess you could say.”

Frank’s chin lifted slightly, giving her a long, appraising look. “Huh. Guess Red finally told you the truth.”

“Red—“ her mind stumbled onto understanding. “Wait, you _knew_?”

“I got a good ear for voices, and he didn’t do jack to hide his, honestly. Took a few times meeting him, but I figured it out on that boat before it blew.”

Now she was mad again, but no longer at him. “Great, literally everyone knew that Matt was Daredevil before I did, just _great_.”

“Eh, don’t kick yourself over it. He had reason to hide it.”

“Oh sure, he had reason to hide being _Daredevil_ , but that doesn’t justify every damn time he lied about how disabled he was and pretended he needed my help just so that he could get close to me…” she was saying more than she meant to, standing closer to Frank than planned, and she snapped her mouth shut into a tight line. “Like I said, we’re not talking.”

He gave a single soft chuckle. “It hurts, huh? And you’re running away again.”

“I’ve been hurt worse,” she replied softly. He had the decency to look away at that. “I think…I think I should call that cab now. Thanks…thanks for reading my articles.”

She decided she wasn’t going to look back at him. She knew he was safe, he was out fighting crime, that was enough, really, and if she got entangled any more she’d have the police chasing _her_. She could see the street not far away, and found a bench to sit on before dialing. It was her preferred cab company, safe and reliable in Midtown, and she gave them her location.

“Yeah, somebody’ll be with you in twenty, twenty-five minutes.”

“Twenty-five minutes?!”

“Hey, it’s not a great part of town, not all our drivers head out that way.”

“Yeah, which is why I don’t want to be stuck our here that long!”

“Look, we’ll get there as soon as we can, but you rather walk? And good luck getting an Uber this time of night.”

Karen took a deep breath to swallow her irritation. “Fine. Send the cab.” She hung up and swore, because this evening just seemed to be getting worse and worse. She rested her elbows on her knees and cradled her head in her hands, running her fingers through her hair in an attempt to relieve the tension.

She felt rather than saw Frank sit down on the other end of the bench, well away from her. Karen looked up and scowled at him, sitting there sipping on a cardboard cup of coffee like this wasn't all his fault.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m not leaving you here to wait for a cab by yourself. Not in this neighborhood.”

“Well, you’re the one who brought me here,” she grumbled. Karen pulled out her phone again and started typing.

“What’re you doing?”

“Writing up my article for tonight’s events. Don’t worry, our little escape isn’t going to make it in, I don’t want to be dragged in for questioning by the cops for the dozenth time in my life. But it helps to get my thoughts down as quickly as I can, to remember everything, then I polish it up later.”

“You can do all that on your phone?”

“They didn’t have smart phones before you shipped out?”

“Not as good as that one.”

She kept typing for a few minutes, trying to ignore him, but she could feel him watching her like an unsettling hawk. Karen saved and closed the file and handed over the iPhone.

Frank turned it over in his hands, unlocking the screen and shuffling through features. “I should get me one of these, it looks handy.”

“Ha, not so much for a wanted fugitive. What you need is a burner phone, untraceable and cheap if you need to dump—“ She glanced over his shoulder to see what he was doing. “Wait, are you looking at my music files?”

“Earth, Wind, and Fire?” Frank was smirking at her now.

“ _Ben_ liked them.”

That got her a quizzical eyebrow.

“Ben Urich? The reporter? The man whose car you wrecked?”

“Saving your life.”

“Well, let’s just say I tend to value any connections I have to him.” She snatched the phone back possessively and reopened the file to keep working.

“You don’t have any questions for me?”

“I already asked them, and you refused to answer. I can guess from the other van that you had someone helping you on this little mission, and I hope you got them somewhere safe.”

“That was the plan.”

Karen couldn’t focus on her writing; it would have to wait. “You’re not going to tell me who they were, though.” It wasn’t a question, but Frank shook his head in answer anyway. “Okay, then, I guess…” What was this? Did he want some kind of small talk from her? She supposed it might be lonely being the Punisher, but then again _he_ was the one who’d done everything possible to push her out of his life. “Where did you get the dog?”

“Max? Dogfighting ring in the Bronx I broke up a few weeks back.”

Karen nodded. “I remember reading about that. The ringleaders said you’d been responsible but no one believed them because, well, no bodies.”

“I wouldn’t have minded leaving some, but it was too close to the dogs, I didn’t want them getting hit.”

She was taken aback by that. It was either very sweet or very hypocritical, and she couldn’t decide which. “Wow, you like dogs, I guess.”

Frank shrugged. “Always had one growing up. Not recently because…” his voice trailed off, and Karen waited. Waiting was hard, but she’d been practicing. Ellison said it was the most important skill a reporter could ever learn.

“Junior was allergic,” he finally finished, his eyes looking off at the distance.

Karen’s heart twisted and she looked down at her hands, playing with a loose thread on her coat. “I’m s...” she choked off the apology. What could she say to that? “You, um, you’ve been doing a lot of jobs that don’t really have anything to do with…with your family’s death lately.”

“That’s over.”

“Really? Because you barely touched the cartels, and there’s still plenty of the Dogs of Hell running around—”

“Oh, I’ll get to ’em if they cross my path, believe me, but it ain’t just about that anymore. I had to make it be over at some point. Had to make a stopping point, or else it was going to go on forever. The Blacksmith worked for that.”

“Why…you never told me…” Karen shook her head in amazement. “What made you change your mind?”

Frank gripped his coffee cup heard enough that cardboard began to crush. His face turned dark, and he met her look out of the corner of his eye. “Fisk. Fisk wants me out here killing off all his competition so that he can make some kind of big-ass return to power, pick up right back where he started. Well, I ain’t letting that shit-stain use me again to do his dirty work, nosiree. That fat bastard gets out of jail, and I _will_ be ready, you can guarantee that.”

“Well, I’m glad that mistake taught you something, at least,” she said bitterly. She’d appreciated Frank's honesty in telling her exactly how he bartered his escape, but she hadn’t liked hearing about it then, and she didn’t like talking about it now.

“Led me to the Blacksmith, made it mostly worth it.”

“And do you know what the crazy thing is? Every official report is that he has been a model prisoner, his scummy lawyer is using it as the _centerpiece_ of their appeals process! If we could prove that Fisk was involved with something as deeply criminal as his arrangement with you, you wouldn’t need to be ready for his return, we could stop it from ever happening."

“Hey, what’s this ‘we’ all of a sudden?”

Karen hadn’t even noticed her pronoun usage until he mentioned it, but all at once, she felt a sudden a sudden giddiness coursing through her system. The feeling Ellison said you got any time you just landed a good story. “Well, why not ‘we’? I mean, we worked together before, finding the Blacksmith.”

“I used you as _bait_.”

“Okay, yes, but…” Karen stood up and started pacing, covering her mouth with her hands, taking deep breaths to contain herself. “That was a shit thing to do. A-a-and there is a big part of me that says working with you again might be the _worst_ idea I’ve ever had with my life. But you don’t know what I’ve been through when it comes to Wilson Fisk.”

Frank didn’t say a thing. He just set down his cup and tilted his head to one side to stare her down.

How much did she want to tell him? “When Matt went to see Fisk, to confirm his theory that he’d let you out? He threatened us. All of us, everyone at Nelson and Murdock, and that includes me. And if I look a little tired, if I seem a little stressed, it’s because I take that kind of threat seriously. Ben Urich, the man you share a taste in music with? He _murdered_ him. I feel like it’s following me everywhere I go, e-every assignment I take, is this the one that brings my path back to Fisk? I can’t live like this, Frank. I want to take Fisk down, and you are a link that can help me.”

 “You think anyone’ll believe my word over his? He owns the damn place now.”

“It’s called corroboration, and if I can get it, Fisk is going to molder in his prison cell, the king of nowhere beyond Rikers. I’ll have him out of my life once and for all.”

“There are other ways of doing that,” Frank reminded her, cocking his finger in an imaginary gun and pulling the trigger.

“Yeah, well, maybe for you, but not for me.” Karen folded her arms across her chest, not meeting his eye. _Liar_. “Is there anyone else who could back up your story?”

“Prisoners, guards, shit I think everyone knew, but good luck getting someone to talk.”

“There’s always someone who’ll talk. That’s how Matt and Foggy brought him down in the first place, and if you can help me—” She was interrupted by the sound of a car pulling up and headlights beaming in their direction. Karen sighed. “That’s my cab. Look – get that burner, ok? Then get in contact with me, we can help each other.”

Frank’s face was slightly confused. “You trust me all of a sudden?”

“Why not?”

“Bait, lady, you forget that?”

“Look, you’ll just be a source, ok? It’s work, just, j-just work. I can help you out too, as long as you don’t do anything criminal in front of me or else I have to report it.”

Frank nodded slowly, his face still doubtful. “Why don’t I think about it.”

“Fine.” It was a start. It was a lead. It was something. Maybe an end to her yearlong nightmare that was Wilson Fisk. She looked over at the cab and reluctantly began walking towards it, before looking back one last time. “I’ll…see you around, Frank.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Karen climbed into the back of the cab and looked out the window to see Frank’s retreating form stalk back into the darkness.

Her driver was watching him go too, eyes wide. “Wait, was…was that the Punisher?”

Karen buckled her seatbelt. “Oh yeah, we’re good buddies.” He looked at her incredulously and Karen shrugged in feigned indifference. “Don’t jack up my fare.”


	2. Happy New Year, Karen

Karen tapped the files on the desk in her office with the fingers of one hand, her head propped in the others. She had a list of all the prisoners and guards who’d been in with Frank at the time of his escape, but she didn’t know what to do with it yet. She couldn’t just start hunting them down for interviews; ask the wrong person, and the message that she was digging into him would travel right back to Fisk.

 _Nightmares of him in her apartment, hands around her neck, Ben Urich’s coffin and Wesley’s bleeding body_ …

She shook herself free of the images and set the list aside. Karen would have to research them individually before meeting anyone to find who was the weakest link in Fisk’s protective fence. In the meantime, this was a long-term case, and she had plenty of other work with Councilman Reynard’s sudden resignation (thanks in part to a story she’d written with Angela Manus, who Ellison had given the responsibility of teaching Karen the city hall beat) plus all the other headlines both bleeding and heartwarming. Immediate stories and the paycheck they brought took precedence over taking down Fisk, which itself took more precedence over her _truly_ long-term project: Kandahar.

That was another reason Karen was glad to be back in contact with Frank. If she could win his trust, maybe she could learn what had really happened, what he didn’t want to tell her. Maybe then she could sort out what it was exactly she felt about him.

Ellison handed her most of the Punisher incidents because he’d said that she was the only one who treated him objectively. What that really meant was that Karen had no idea what she thought of Frank at this point. Ellison had said she was projecting onto him, but she knew she’d actually been identifying with him, and the mix of curiosity, sympathy, and terror that he evoked in her was a reflection of what she felt every time she looked in the mirror.

This was her life now. Her mess, she’d made it, and now she had to live in it.

Her reverie was interrupted by a knock on her door and a familiar face poking through the opening. “Foggy!”

“Karen! That work with the traffickers? Phenomenal!”

“Thank you,” Karen smiled, carefully stacking all her files and tucking them into a locked drawer. “It’s, um, always good to feel you’ve accomplished something.”

“Tell me about it. I thought you should know that I talked Hogarth into letting me take on the laborers as a pro-bono case to give the firm some good press.”

“Foggy, that’s awesome, but…Eric’s actually the one doing the follow-up on the immigration process and the police investigation, so—”

“Oh, not as a business thing, Karen, I just figured, you know, _you_ , a friend, would like to be proud of me and my not selling out at my big shiny new firm.”

She laughed at his doofy grin and nodded. “Good job, Foggy. Stick it to the man. Or woman, I guess, with Hogarth.”

“Eh, she’s not _so_ bad once you get to know her. Well, I mean, she _is_ , just in a kind of different way, but she does at least care about the people at the office, so, you know. Ooh!” he snapped his fingers. “People at the office, right, the other reason I’m here. H, C, & B is having their New Year’s party tomorrow night, and I hear it is _quite_ the shindig. And, well, I have a plus one on my invitation, so…” He spread his arms and smiled.

“Oh…” Karen blinked, suddenly awkward. “Oh, Foggy, I’m flattered, but—”

“Oh! No, no, no, I’m going with Marci! I just thought, you know, you’ve been feeling down with everything that’s happened, with,” he paused and leaned in to whisper, “ _Matt_ , and… I thought you’d like a nice night out.”

Matt’s revelation to her had included letting her know that Foggy had been in on the secret for months already. She’d wanted to be upset about it, but looking back she could see all the times Foggy had clearly _wanted_ to tell her, but knew she had to hear it from the Devil himself. They’d had a long drunken verbal waling on Matt together once she knew, and had avoided the topic since.

“Thanks. You know, you’re right, I probably do need it. Um. How…dressy is it?”

“I’m sure whatever you wear will be fine.”

Whatever she wore was, as it turned out, not fine. Lawyers made more money than former legal assistants turned reporters, and Karen was tugging at her pencil skirt and blouse number in embarrassment when she saw the floor-length dresses and stylish pantsuits worn by the other women. She was ready to run back out the door rather than pick up her name card when Foggy caught her eye from across the room. He said something to Marci that made her roll her eyes and jogged up to meet Karen.

“You made it! You look good!”

“I look like the riffraff sneaking into the building.”

“Pfft, do you see me in a tux either?” Foggy had a point. He was wearing a very nice suit, but it was still a step down from the rest of the male staff. “We’re keeping it real, Karen, Hell’s Kitchen and Vermont, represent!”

Karen’s laugh became a bit of a snort. “Ok, fine, I’ll stay a little.”

“Drinks are free,” Foggy reminded her.

She picked up her first glass at the bar, meeting the inquisitive eyes from the other guests with a sheepish smile. Karen’s initial thought had been to shadow Foggy for the evening, but before she’d made it back to the high table he was standing at, she realized that Marci already had a monopoly on him for the evening. From what she could overhear of their conversation it was composed largely of mean comebacks, but you wouldn’t guess it from the grins on their faces.

Karen was pleased that seeing him with her didn’t make her feel jealous. See? She was capable of being happy for her friends without thinking about her own situation.

But that _did_ leave her with her own situation nonetheless, and unfortunately it seemed as if everyone was already in a group. Maybe she should have tried getting there earlier, before the cliques had formed, to make an inroad. Now, though, she found herself shrinking towards the wall until her back was against it. Karen Page, wallflower. She sipped her vodka-tonic and tried to appear relaxed.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that someone else was watching at her. Lounging in a comfy-looking chair was a black-haired woman even more underdressed than she was: beat-up skinny jeans, a t-shirt, and a leather jacket, with a large drink in her hand. She was giving Karen a slightly scowling inspection that was more than a bit rude. In spite of that, Karen felt for that she’d met someone at the party who she’d feel comfortable talking to. She looked, after all, like one of the barflies at Josie’s.

“Hi,” Karen said as she sat down in the chair next to her. They were as comfortable as they looked. “I’m glad I’m not the only person looking out of place here.”

“Huh, no shit. Jeri badgered me into it, said it’d be good for me.”

“I…” she gestured to where Foggy and Marci were in deep, snarky conversation. “I was invited by a friend. Unfortunately I don’t really have a dress to match this kind of function.”

“Yeah, I don’t wear dresses anymore.” She took a long sip of her drink. “So who’re you?”

“Karen. Karen Page.”

“Jessica Jones,” the woman said, thrusting out a hand. Karen took it, and noticed her grip was particularly strong. She also noticed that Jessica was sizing her up.

“That name sounds familiar.”

“I kind of made the news for snapping the neck of a mind-controlling freak. It was probably that.”

“Probably,” Karen agreed, eyes wide. She remembered that. It was one of those stories that would have been hard to believe, had it not been well corroborated and had not everything in the universe lately been so utterly bizarre. “You’re a private investigator, right? I’m a reporter. With the Bulletin.” Those words still sounded sweet on her lips every time she said them.

“Uh huh.”

“Brand new, I don’t expect you to have heard of me.”

“I am shit for keeping up with newspapers, so yeah.”

Jessica took another drink, and Karen debated between waiting and plowing ahead. “Your…lawyers said that he…commanded you to do it? Like, as suicide.”

“I’m going to let you in on a little secret,” Jessica said, and leaned in conspiratorially. “ _Lawyers lie_.”

So. She’d killed him of her own volition. It worried Karen how much knowing that made her instantly like Jessica.

“Well, he had it coming, I’m sure,” she said with a shrug, taking a drink of her own.

Jessica gave her another long glance. “What’s _your_ damage?”

“What?”

“That was pretty cold, Ms. Page. I’m guessing you’ve known the type?”

“What type?”

“The type of guy who has it coming.”

Karen’s hand clenched on her glass involuntarily. “I…was involved in the takedown of Wilson Fisk, so, yes, I have met a number of people who I’d consider that…type.”

She wasn’t sure whether Jessica bought that as the whole truth – which of course it wasn’t – but the way she nodded and leaned back let Karen know the PI didn’t intend to push. “So why’re you here?”

“I said, a friend invited me—”

“No, I mean, why are you keeping me company over here? You’re hot, go pick up a guy. Have fun, get laid.”

“Everyone’s kind of paired off…”

“Not Alex from accounting.” She pointed at an awkward looking man standing by himself on the other side of the room. “I mean, he’s kind of a dick, but he might introduce you around.”

“Are you trying to get rid of me?”

“It’s for your own good, believe me,” Jessica said, standing up. “I’m going to be doing this,” and here she waved her now-empty glass, “until they have to order me a cab home.”

Karen watched her saunter off, wishing she would stay, but the request caught in her throat. She didn’t want to sound as desperate for company as she felt.

Alex was in his thirties, ginger, thin, with a bad haircut and a poorly-knotted tie, but his eyes lit up when Karen approached him and that was enough to make him acceptable for the time being. “Hi! Um, you are…?”

“Karen. I’m a friend of Foggy’s.”

“Nelson, the new guy?”

“That would be him.”

“Welcome to H, C, & B!” He said, holding out a hand. “I’m Alex. Accounting. They invite us to these events, but I’m new and didn’t know you’re not really supposed to come unless you’re legal.”

“Gotcha. Well, that makes two of us a little bit lost here.”

“Misery loves company, right?” Alex smiled and it was a cute smile. “I can give you plenty of juice on all these people, if you want. Handling their books means handling their secrets.”

“Oh, I think that would be a bad idea. It might tempt me to report it.”

“Report—you’re a reporter?”

“For the Bulletin.” Still sweet.

“Oh, well, not the most prestigious paper I guess, but it’s a start, right?”

“They have good people. I’ve never been attracted to prestige, really, just…helping.”

“Noble words. Wasted around here. Well, except for that friend of yours, Nelson. He’s got plans to shake everything up, especially if he becomes a partner.”

“Foggy’s definitely a bit of the hero type.”

“Well, we need whatever good press we can get. Even with the open-shut self-defense, having your lead partner kill her _wife_ sends some business running.” Alex grimaced. “I’m not even sure I like having her in charge anymore.”

“Self-defense—”

“Is justifiable, yeah, but maybe you take a break for a bit? Do some mourning rather than throw yourself right back into work? I don’t get how you can kill someone and just go right back to life.” He finally noticed the look on Karen’s face and blushed. “Oh God, I’m sorry, I did _not_ mean for that to turn morbid so quickly!”

“No, believe me, I’ve heard worse. I’ve _written_ worse.” A waiter came around and offered them both champagne stems, which Karen took eagerly.

“If it bleeds it leads?”

“Newspapers are dying, we have to do something.”

“The Punisher is one of your main moneymakers, right?”

Karen hesitated, draining her glass to cover it. “I guess…”

“Oh, I don’t mean _you_ , I mean the paper.”

“Right…” Time to change the subject. “How long have you been working here?”

“About eight months. It’s better than my last position. The paycheck, anyway. Plus,” he tapped his glass, “events like these. Where I get to meet lovely young ladies.”

“Hmm,” Karen said, smiling. “We show up that often?”

“Parties, yes, the accounting office not so much. It is a cold, lonely, testosterone-ridden hole. I think Jeri keeps the cute girls up here in secretarial positions for her own benefit.”

He clearly didn’t like his boss, and Karen wondered how much her orientation had to do with that. Changing the subject again. “How about everyone else? They…treat you well here?”

“Oh sure. I kid about the secrets – well, not really, they all have them – but they’re not bad ones. I haven’t found anything on your friend, that’s for sure. The only person who’s a bitch to everyone is the PI, Jones.”

“Uh huh.”

“Another murderer we defended, too, I guess.” He flinched. “Sorry! I keep coming back to this!”

“Murderers deserve defenses, too, that’s the whole point of the legal system.”

“Yeah, well, your paper definitely does that for the Punisher, let me tell you. You ought to talk to whoever does that, tell them to come to their senses.”

Karen sipped the last of her drink. Maybe it was time to end this. “Actually… _I’ve_ written most of our articles on him.”

Alex’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped open. “Wait…okay, pretentions aside, I read the Bulletin, obviously, screw these Wall Street Journal-only types around here, and _you’re_ the one who writes those fluff pieces?”

“Fl—they’re _not_ fluff pieces!” she snapped. “I research the _shit_ out of them, I’ll have you know!”

“Yeah, enough to make the Punisher look like he’s some hero of the city rather than a mass murderer!”

Some of the people around them were starting to turn at the volume of their conversation, and Karen slouched down, lowering her voice. “I’ve never said anything positive about him. Those are the people I interview.”

“And how much work does it take to dig up his little fanclub?”

“Not much.” Karen snapped her fingers for the waiter, and he rushed up with another drink.

“I guess the city is more full of psychos than I thought.”

She tossed back the drink and set the glass forcefully on the table. “No, the city is full of people for whom the police force does _jack shit_. They take forever to get to their neighborhoods when they call 911, they don’t follow through on their cases, th-th-they frisk them with no provocation, use civil forfeiture to steal their stuff, and if you recall just a few weeks back they _murder them and almost get away with it_. It’s easy to find someone who thinks the Punisher is a godsend; you just have to find someone poor or black or Hispanic or-or an immigrant or living on the street—”

Alex rolled his eyes. “Oh _please_ , don’t try to sell me the idea that the Punisher is some great white hope of the marginalized of New York City!”

Karen scoffed back at him. “No, I’m pretty sure he’s mostly choosing targets based on where the police are least likely to stop him. But if you want to know why I never have to manufacture a positive interview about him? That’s why. This city is letting a lot of people down, and they’re desperate enough to need someone like the Punisher. If you want to _stop_ him, if you think he’s wrong, then fix the broken system that lets him exist in its cracks.”

He gave her a long look that she recognized as contemptuous. “See, this is why I don’t want anything to do with the modern liberal movement, you’re all so willing to dismiss personal responsibility in favor of ‘the system’ or some crap. It’s not all social justice, sometimes it’s just right and wrong, black and white.”

“Maybe it is, but my job isn’t to make that judgment call.”

“Tell me, do you _sleep_ at night, knowing you’re basically his PR girl?” It was a sneer, and Karen’s blood was boiling. Those last two drinks had been a bad idea.

“I’d rather take a few sleepless nights than see everything like a simplistic moralizer.” She pushed herself away from the table and began storming out of the party. Alex would probably have a great story for his accounting team about the idiot social justice reporter naively defending the Punisher when—

\-- _I could reach into my purse and show you just how much of a bleeding heart I am_. Karen stopped at the elevators, tears burning her eyes, resting her forehead against the glossy elevator door, taking deep breaths. She was so angry, so humiliated. She shouldn’t have come.

No, actually, what she _should_ have done was stay with Jessica. A fellow murderer. Someone she could relate to.

She sent Foggy a text message on her way down the elevator, telling him she didn’t feel well and was going home early. A lie, yes, and after only an hour there he would probably be worried and calling her later, because Foggy was thoughtful like that. Marci was a lucky woman.

Outside, in the chilly New Year’s Eve air, the streets were packed with locals and tourists there for the big ball drop. At least half of them were already heavily inebriated and Karen had to weave her way through the crowd, wobbly herself on heels and too much alcohol. She thought about hailing a cab, but decided she’d just take the subway to Hell’s Kitchen, cheaper, and being around people would hopefully help her hold off the breakdown she felt coming.

Out of the subway, back in the Kitchen, she felt a bitter reaction to the disparity between the neighborhood she’d left and the one she made her home in. A short subway ride shouldn’t bring this you this far down the economic ladder. Gentrification wasn’t necessarily the right way to fix a place, but the waves of social mobility that had swept Manhattan in the 90s had left Hell’s Kitchen behind in a painful way.

She didn’t notice the arm that grabbed her and pulled her into an alley until it was too late. Karen went for her gun, but a knife flicked open in front of her face before she could even open her purse.

“You Karen Page?”

She froze. “Who?”

“Nevermind, open it up,” he gestured with his knife towards the purse. His eyes were bloodshot under blond hair so dirty it was nearly brown. He was unshaven and unbathed – homeless. She’d say in need of the money, but why did her know her name?

“O-okay, I’ve got a little cash in my wallet—”

“Fuck that, give me your phone!”

Karen’s hand paused where it lay on her wallet. Her phone.

“It’s password protected, you won’t get much more for it on the market, why don’t you just take my wallet?”

“Give me the damn phone, bitch!”

Karen lowered her hand down further, and felt the pommel of her gun in the palm of her hand.

Before anything worse happened, though, her assailant collapsed with a thud. Karen saw a heavy stick clatter to the ground beside him, and then the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen dropped down in front of her.

“Are you all right?” Matt asked, as normally if they’d just run into one another at the office.

“Were you following me?” It was the first time she’d talked to Matt in a week, and the first time seeing him in costume knowing who it was behind the mask. Karen had always felt a chill from the familiarity of the Daredevil’s voice in the past. Knowing his identity now didn’t make it any better.

“No. Just scanning the area. He was loud.” Matt cocked his head to one side, still listening. “And high. I know a center that should take him in…”

“My good luck then.” Karen adjusted her purse on her shoulder, wanting to leave.

“Why didn’t you just give him the phone, Karen?” Matt asked softly. “You went for your gun…”

“You know I have a gun?”

“It’s pretty heavy in your purse. Clanks on your keys sometimes. You got it after Ben’s death, I figured it was for protection. None of my business.”

“Exactly. None of your business.”

“Karen—” Matt held up a hand to stop her leaving. “That came out wrong, I’m sorry. I mean it, your life is more important than your phone. Especially to me.”

She sighed, looking up towards the tenement walls above them. “My phone has all my contacts, all my sources, all my articles, and all my photos. It would be a treasure trove to anyone who wants to take out informants. I…I couldn’t give it up. And it was really suspicious that he knew my name, and only wanted the phone.”

“Right.” Matt reached down to roll over the unconscious body at his feet. “Reynard’s resignation, maybe?”

“Maybe.” She hoped that was what it was. If Fisk somehow already knew she was onto him, well, it didn’t bear thinking about.

Matt nodded slowly. “Look, Karen, I know…things are bad between us, and it is absolutely my fault, one hundred percent. But I want…I want you to stay safe, okay? And to know I _am_ out here for the right reasons. Which includes protecting _you_.”

“I know, Matt. And…if you want help, as Daredevil, I will give it to you.” She owed him that much. If she was planning to work with the even more problematic Frank Castle, at least. “But as Matt? That’s…that’s going to take a while to rebuild. I never even _knew_ you.”

He nodded again. “Thanks, Karen. That you’d even give me the chance means a lot, believe me.” He hoisted the unconscious man over his shoulders. “I’m going to drop him off, see if I can find out who he is, who might have hired him.”

“Let me know.” Karen didn’t look back as she continued to her apartment. She knew he’d have vanished into the shadows already.

Her night already felt five times longer than it should have, and it seemed as she reached her building that life wasn’t finished dumping shit on her. She found her building manager sitting in the lobby, holding a package. “This got delivered for you.”

Karen took it from her. It was a padded brown envelope, with a lump bulging at its center. Worse, the outside was completely unmarked. Stories swapped around the office about bombs and anthrax came rushing back to her. “Who delivered it?”

“Some grubby kid.” When Karen began to turn the package gingerly, hoping for some clues, she added, “It’s a phone.”

Karen gave her a sharp look. “What?”

The manager shrugged. “I know what happened to your last apartment, figured an unmarked package might blow us all up, so I peeked inside.” She pointed to a small hole in the side of the package. “Just a phone and a few papers.”

“Thank you for that,” Karen said honestly. “I owe you.”

“Just pay your rent and don’t get my building shot at.”

Karen trudged her way up to the third floor and unlocked the multiple bolts on her apartment. It was even worse than her last studio; needless to say she had _not_ gotten her deposit back on her previous apartment, and it had made finding anywhere decent a challenge. But it had what little undamaged furniture she still owned – a bed, a couch, a dresser, a table and two chairs – plus a galley kitchen and tiny bathroom. The windows faced a blank brick wall and had heavy curtains, which she kept drawn as much as possible.

The fluorescent light over her table was dim but enough to let her tear open the package and empty its contents. Out came a burner phone, along with a packaging label and a note. She read it first – “swap numbers, mail it back.”

Holy shit, he’d actually done it. She’d wondered whether Frank might ignore her – why would he care about bringing down Fisk? Hell, he was probably looking forward to the man getting out of prison so that he could kill him personally.

But there was no one else who it could be. She looked at the packaging label, which had a PO Box address scrawled under the word “MICRO,” all in caps. Was that an organization? A person? Whoever it was that had been driving that other van? Karen felt a stab of frustration that Frank hadn’t told her anything about it, but then again not knowing who was helping him gave her a layer of plausible deniability, which she would need to keep intact to stay on the safe side of New York’s shield law.

“I’m really doing this, huh?” She sighed and flipped open the burner. It was brand-new, with only one text message giving the new number of the phone. She put her number into his contacts list, then added his to her own. She knew the ringtone to give it immediately, what took more time was thinking of his alias. All her sources had fake names, of course, to preserve their anonymity if necessary. Sister Rosalia, for example, from over in Harlem, was “Tembleques,” from the dish they’d had the first time they’d talked about the rumblings of a new vigilante in her neighborhood. She’d need something for Frank that would be similarly familiar only to her.

She replayed her memories of him, until she finally settled on “Pit bull.” She hadn’t heard reports from anyone else about his dog, and besides, she wouldn’t lie that the descriptor fit Frank to a T.

Karen slipped the phone back into the package, resealed it (including fixing her manager’s little hole, that had been smart on her part) and put the packaging label on it. She’d have to wait until after the New Year to deliver it. In the meantime, she looked up the address – a nowhere front out in Brooklyn. Frank definitely got around the city.

The less she knew for right now, though, the better. Keep things professional. Don’t get too invested the way she had before.

Outside she heard a roar of a crowd and fireworks going off. Her eyes jerked up to her clock – midnight. _Happy New Year, Karen_ , she thought to herself. She’d make a wish for it to be less eventful than the last, but she knew her heart wouldn’t be in it.

_Just let me and the people I care about make it through alive._


	3. Thanks for letting me know

Karen awoke to the buzz of her phone where it lay next to her on the bed. She rubbed her eyes as she lifted it up – briefly seeing it was already 11 am – and answered. “Hello?”

“Karen! I’m so sorry, I didn’t get your text last night, I…um, I may have sort of… gonehomewithMarci… but are you okay?”

She smiled groggily. “Yeah, I’m fine, Foggy, I was more emotionally sick.”

“Okay, who offended your honor, I get to fight to defend you!”

“Alex from accounting.”

“That prick? I mean, I know some people around the office like him, but I could have told you he was an asshole.”

“I was forewarned, actually, I was just hoping he’d introduce me around rather than lecture me on what he imagines are the ills of liberalism.”

“Ugh, sounds like Alex. Well, you should’ve stayed around. He said something that pissed off Jones, the firm’s PI-in-residence, and she decked him. That woman has a _punch_ , rumor is she’s got some sort of enhanced strength ability from an accident as a child…”

Karen found herself regretting not staying with Jessica even more. “She has superpowers?”

“ _Rumored_ superpowers. Mostly I think she’s just very, _very_ angry.”

She sat up, stretching, and realized her apartment was far too cold; the radiator must have died a few hours ago, as it did on occasion. Karen kept talking as she walked to it and kicked it twice, restarting the heat. “Do you know her contact information? A private investigator might not be a bad idea to have as a friend.”

“Not on me, but I bet I could ask at the office. She’ll make for a grumpy drinking buddy.”

 “I can be grumpy too, sometimes.”

“Not like Jones can. Well, I’m glad you’re not sick-sick, just sick of Alex. Next time I ask you to something I promise I won’t abandon you to that fate.”

“You’re so thoughtful,” she teased him. Then she took a deep breath. “Foggy, I think you should know…I ran into Matt last night.”

There was a long silence on the other end. “Was he…dressed up for the evening?”

“Yeah.”

“Right.” Foggy sighed. “Well, at least he’s not dead. I guess I can feel happy about that.”

“I just thought you should know.”

“Nah, I understand, it’s not your fault. Thanks for letting me know.”

“You’re welcome.”

After he’d hung up, Karen peeled her curtains back, wincing at the bright light that came through. The sun was reflecting brightly off a new layer of snow that must had fallen that morning.

She was startled when her phone rang again, this time from Ellison.

“Karen! Where are you?”

“My apartment? You said I could have New Year’s off…”

“Right, but you’re _safe_?”

“Yes, why—”

“I got a call this morning from a Detective Mahoney. He said a junkie came in last night claiming that he’d been paid off by someone from Councilman Reynard’s office to try to steal your sources.”

Oh thank _God_ it was just Reynard. “That’s awful! What are they doing about it?”

“Well, unfortunately he also came in with a heavy lump on his head from the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, so I don’t think it’s admissible as evidence. But Mahoney said he’s looking into it. Did he try anything with you?”

Karen faltered trying to think of a good answer. If he hadn’t said anything about mugging her, she’d rather not have anyone know she’d run into Daredevil and hadn’t reported it. “I was approached by someone on my way home, but nothing really happened.”

“Well, that might have been him. You might want to take some extra precautions until everything’s closed on the corruption case. I can give you some pointers when you come in tomorrow…”

“I appreciate it, really, I do, everything you do for me.”

So that was all the threads from last night tied up. Karen poured herself cereal and orange juice and sat down to eat. Tried to ignore the package sitting on the middle of the table. Failed.

The problem with having a day off from work was that almost all her social connections were through the Bulletin, which left her with nothing to do other than fret about whether she was making a terrible mistake in going after Fisk. She needed a distraction. She settled on books.

No Russian melodrama this time, she needed to focus on work and get out of her personal angst. Ellison had given her a book of essays by journalists on their craft for Christmas, and she decided to finally crack it open. Karen felt guilty about getting a job at the Bulletin without a journalism degree, but most of the staff assured her that everyone really learned while they were on the job. Still, Karen wanted to study as much as possible. She’d done the same at Nelson & Murdock, reading their legal books during her downtime so that she could keep pace with the two of them.

Matt had said she could become a lawyer, but then again he’d failed as a lawyer himself, so what did he know? Karen shook her head, trying to focus on the book. She was a journalist now, a pretty good one, and she could do fine without Matt’s advice.

She mailed the package back the next day and began the long wait.

And it _was_ long. It had taken only two days after their encounter in the park for her to receive the phone, but she’d imagined that Frank would contact her right away after getting it back. Instead, the days passed, and Karen continued her careful behind-the-scenes investigation of the guards and prisoners alone.

In the meantime, Foggy had brought her Jessica Jones’ contact information – she seemed to practically live out of her office, Alias Investigations – and she’d gone back and forth on whether to contact her. The problem was that she needed some kind of excuse. Maybe once she’d narrowed down her list of suspects a background search would give her an avenue to talk to the private investigator. Simply calling her up out of the blue to ask her out for a drink would be strange, right?

Karen also started digging into the rumors of Jessica’s supposed super-strength. News articles about her murder of Kilgrave, police reports, nasty message board postings claiming a “superpowered bitch” was thrown out of a bar a few months back. It all seemed to indicate she might be the real deal, though Jessica must have wanted to hide her power almost as much as Matt did.

One very early morning in mid-January, her waiting ended.

She’d been sent out to cover the crime scene the moment everyone realized who had been responsible. Karen wasn’t looking forward to witnessing another one of Frank’s killings, but she’d also sworn to herself that she wasn’t going to look away anymore, or pretend that this wasn’t part of who he was.

There were only two bodies, one propped against a wall and the other dropped from at least twenty feet overhead, according to later coroner reports. Karen’s main impression was a general horror that a body could explode like that if you let go from high enough. She didn’t look too closely at it, just in case she felt like puking.

These would be numbers 103 and 104. The official list the Bulletin had for the Punisher would put his body count at 106, but that included Reyes and Tepper because Frank had been too much of an idiot to turn the Blacksmith in and clear himself of those charges.

The media wasn’t being allowed behind the police tape, of course, but Karen had gotten there first and was near enough to get the best photos and first dibs on the witnesses when the police were done questioning them. “It was the Punisher, man!” the first teen boy told her excitedly. “He jacked those two creeps up!”

“You _saw_ him?” Karen asked.

“Well, I didn’t see him _do_ it, but we heard the _pendejo’s_ body hit the ground on our way back from the convenience store.”

“Yeah, we saw him leaving the alley,” the other confirmed. “Black coat, big gun, man he was cool!”

“He murdered those people,” she reminded them.

“Yeah, but fuck ‘em, you know what they found in their basement?”

Karen did, in fact. Cameras, lights, and a large mountain of child pornography. Frank had stuffed a few of the photos down the throat of the man he’d left on the wall, before putting a knife through his head.

Her other interviewee was less enthusiastic. “I’m just glad I found it first,” the woman told her. “Imagine if my children had been the ones to stumble on that scene. This damn city…maybe they deserved it, what they were doing, but this isn’t a place to raise a family anymore, when killers are…are leaving bodies on display to send a message.”

It would be a good story. The police would deny that the Punisher was involved, obviously, say it was yet another copycat of Frank Castle, but Karen could report what the witnesses said anyway, and thousands of people would buy a copy and millions would go to their page to debate Frank’s merits in the comments section of the article.

Karen still felt sick to her stomach as she began typing it up.

Her progress was disrupted by her phone launching into music. “ _You’re a shining star / no matter who_ —” Karen hit the call-receive button as quickly as she could.

“Frank?”

“Hey.” The sound of his voice that close to her ear sent a shiver down her spine. “We need to meet.”

“Well, I’m just finishing up at the scene of your escapade last night.”

“Yeah, I figured. You know the Yellow Brick Wall?”

“I’ve passed by it.”

“They make good pancakes. See you there in fifteen minutes.”

Karen held her phone tight to her chest and took more practiced breaths. This was it. This was happening. No backing out now.

He was sitting at a table, facing the door, face clearly visible, though his coat was closed tightly over the skull he’d taken as a symbol. At first she was surprised that he was sitting out in the open, but then she noticed that no one else was in the restaurant even at peak breakfast hours. The waitress on staff at the counter looked back from her to Frank, and asked, “You Ms. Page?”

“Yes.”

She nodded and gestured to the table. Karen scanned the room as she walked over to take her seat. One of the windows had been broken and re-boarded with cardboard, and she could see holes from a spray of buck-shot blast in the wall near the register. “Let me guess,” she said as she sat down across from him. “You stopped a stick-up here and now they give you free meals?”

“Nah, not free, they just let me eat in peace every once in a while. I already ordered you the pancakes.”

“I’m not that hungry.”

“Your loss. They’re good.”

“We’re here to talk business, Frank.”

“Right. I was waiting for your call. Didn’t come, figured I needed to make the first move.”

“I don’t really have anything to go on. I can only do so much background work before I have to take the risk and start asking questions. I was hoping that you could—”

They were briefly interrupted by the waitress whisking in their breakfast plates and two large cups of coffee, and Karen had to admit that in spite of the gruesome scene earlier, being up since 4 am had made her very hungry. Frank took one of the syrup bottles and began pouring a veritable lake onto his meal.

“I was hoping,” she continued, in between mouths of pancake, “that you might be able to give me some names. Anybody you met who seemed against Fisk.”

“I wasn’t in there that long. And I ain’t that great with names. You get me photos attached to those names, however, and I may be able to help you.”

Karen nodded. “That would be a good start. Also, these are really good pancakes.”

Frank grinned. “Told ya.”

“It never ceases to amaze me—” she began, but bit her lip to stop herself.

“What?”

Karen sighed. “You. You’re here eating pancakes like you didn’t just murder two people six hours ago.”

“Don’t tell me you feel _sorry_ for those assholes?”

“No. Honestly, I think you probably went easy on them. But I feel sorry for the woman who had to find the bodies. And for the boys in the neighborhood who saw you leave and want to be just like you.”

“No they don’t.”

“Oh yes they do, you didn’t hear them talk about you.”

“Nah, I mean they _don’t_. They _think_ they do, but they don’t. You make sure people know that.”

He was giving her one of his intent looks and Karen risked meeting it, letting him hold her gaze, his eyes a mix of sadness, resolution, and defiance. Judge me, they said. Well, she wasn’t going to do it. Wasn’t going to give him that benefit.

“So if I get you the photos and you look them over, I want you to promise me one thing.”

“And what would that be?”

“Anyone I say I need as a source or a witness, you don’t get to kill them.”

“No matter what they’ve done?”

“No matter what. Once we get Fisk, I’m not going to put any holds on you, this is just a temporary alliance, but so long as you’re my source, you have to respect how I investigate.”

Frank seemed to be examining the pools of syrup overflowing his pancakes. He finally looked up. “Fair enough. But I need a favor from you in exchange.”

“At long as it’s not illegal.”

“It ain’t. I’m heading out of town for a little while – don’t ask,” he cut her off, “That shield law thing would not cover it, believe me. I need someone to watch Max while I’m gone. Your apartment let you keep dogs?”

“I guess, but my new place isn’t that big. How…wild is he?”

Frank suddenly broke into a smile. “He’s a baby so long as you don’t piss him off. Mind you, he _will_ go for the throat if you do, but he’ll spend the day sleeping when you’re not around. He knows you now, he should make good company.” He started to drink his coffee, but paused. “You like dogs? I guess I never asked that.”

“I love dogs, so long as they’re not attacking me.” Karen frowned. “I guess I should buy dog food or something.”

“Nah, I’ll bring his favorite kibble by, plus he’s got a bed and some toys and—”

Karen started laughing.

“What?”

“You own dog toys.”

He shrugged and took another drink. “Said I liked dogs.”

“I kind of wish I could get away with doing an _actual_ interview with you. Just talking to the Punisher about how he spends his day when he’s not punishing. I mean, you have to walk Max, right? Scoop up his droppings?”

“So will you,” he reminded her.

“That’s…nobody would think of you that way. They probably wouldn’t believe me, honestly, they’d say I made it all up.” Karen realized she must have been smiling a little too warmly, because Frank was looking distinctly uncomfortable in his chair, shifting around. He made a little wave to the waitress who came by and brought their bill.

“My treat,” he said.

Karen watched him pull out a wad of crumpled bills from his wallet and her smile dimmed. What would someone like Frank be doing to earn money? She probably shouldn’t ask. The problem with asking was always that Frank might actually _tell_ her. Or at least make it very clear that she didn’t want to know.

The waitress took the bills with a slight nod to Frank. Karen watched him fold his wallet back into his pocket. “Why are we here, Frank?”

A pause. “We needed to talk.”

“We could have done all this over the phone. Why pancakes? Why breakfast?”

He shifted back in his chair, watching her. “Because I’m pretty good at figuring you out, but not over a phone. I needed to know if you were serious about this. Not going to back out at the last minute. I was… worried you would.” He frowned. “You look fucking exhausted.”

“I’ve had a bad year at the end of a bad decade of a bad life. I _am_ exhausted.”

“You don’t have to do this. I ain’t going to make you go through with it.”

“I have to. I’m in up to my neck, the only thing I can do is swim.”

“You ever consider I’m the anchor that’ll drag you down?”

“No. No, you’re more like a…” she searched for a good metaphor. “You’re a buoy, wobbly, not as reliable as a life jacket, but something I can grab onto. To keep from drowning.”

“Yeah, you know, they also use ‘em to mark where you’re getting in too deep.”

“Well, that’s you, too. A line I don’t pass.”

“Red would make a better marker for that.”

“Well, Matt’s even less reliable than you in some ways.” And she’d already passed the mark he was talking about, anyway.

“Don’t give up on him,” he said, emphatically. “Look, you’re not in this vigilante business so you don’t understand how it works. You put other people’s lives at risk, keeping some distance is a smart idea.”

Not this again, please, she was too tired. “Keeping me at a distance is one thing, lying about the danger is completely different. I had a bunch of yakuza assassins kidnap me because I was connected to Daredevil and I didn’t even know who he was. Hiding things from the people you love doesn’t keep them safe.”

“You know who he is now—”

“Look, I’m…I’m not like you, Frank!” she snapped. “I’ve had my heart ripped out plenty of times and I am fucking sick of it. And yes, they were _always_ the people who were closest to me, starting with my own damn parents.” That clearly surprised him. “The moment I decided I was done with Matt, romantically, I mean, I felt…free. I’m not…I’m not going to pretend I don’t love him, I _do_ , but…but sometimes you can’t be with someone you love, not like that. Sometimes being a good friend is the best you can manage. Or at least the best _I_ can manage. I’m _not_ giving up on him, I’m just…learning my own limits.”

Karen had thought she was getting better at reading Frank, but his face was inscrutable for a while after that. Karen decided to wait, to force him to talk, and it worked. “Well, you ain’t like me in a lot of ways. You’ve got other chances out there.”

“Not with my social life.” She tilted her coffee to get the last drop.

“Heh, more chance than me.”

Karen peered over the edge of her cup. “Do you _want_ to know about your fanmail?”

“…my _what_?”

“Letters from women. Not huge numbers, but enough. Dozens, pretty regularly, to me, wanting me to help contact you because they admire you so much and know you’re _so_ misunderstood…along with some interesting…offers they want me to pass on.”

“Christ…”

“Ellison calls them serial killer groupies, he says to just throw them out.”

“You ever write them back? Tell ’em what I’m really like?”

“I’ve thought about it. It might work. I mean, if I tell them you dote on your dog, like 70s funk, drink too much coffee and put _way_ too much syrup on your pancakes, _and_ pay for your date’s meal, well, that might ruin their image of you as a ‘sexy sociopath.’”

Frank blinked at her. “This _isn’t_ a date.”

Karen’s mouth flapped. “That’s…that’s not what I meant, I didn’t—come on, Frank, I was talking about _them_ and their fantasies. Which they are so very willing to share, by the way. And often involve you tying them up—”

Frank’s look of disgust was vehement. “They think that? Because I take out scumbags in this city, they think I want to do that?”

“Some people are into it, I guess. Not me, but…I bet you _did_ pay for all your dates growing up, right?”

“Yeah. But _you_ can pay me back next time.”

“Quid pro quo?”

“Like you said, this is business.”

It _was_ , right? She didn’t want back in Frank’s life at all, she knew that. She wanted to just erase last year and everything that happened in it. She wanted to turn New York City back into being a fresh start again. Frank was a means of achieving that. That was all.

She cleared her throat. “Anyway, uh. Call me some time when you want to bring Max over. I’ll give my building manager a heads up.”

“Sure thing.” Frank stood up and started walking towards the entrance of the diner. On his way he gave her a little bump on her shoulder with the back of his knuckles. “Get some damn sleep.”

Karen would swear she could feel the brush of his hand for the rest of the day. It was unnerving.

Ellison had her finished article in less than an hour and sent it to Park in IT for immediate online publication. “Damn, that was a grim one. Both the Punisher _and_ what his victims were up to.”

“I think I may be becoming inured to it.”

“Don’t say that like it’s a good thing.”

“It isn’t, it’s just reality. And reality sucks.”

Ellison nodded. “Well, the article does not. Thank you.” He turned to leave her office but stopped at the last minute. “Me, Manus and Stantacki were going for lunch today, I didn’t know if you wanted to tag along? We have an official rule of no business at social gatherings. If you needed a break from…” he gestured to the articles pinned on her walls and her stacks of notes. “All of this.”

Karen hesitated longer than she should have. “I do. No need to dress up, right?”

“Of course not.”

“Good, then it should go better than the last time I tried to distract myself from work.”

Antonio’s was a good place in Little Italy, a lot more upscale than the Yellow Brick Wall, and Karen was glad that Ellison immediately offered to cover her when she gulped at the menu prices. It was worth it, though; the Portobello ravioli was better than anything Karen had eaten in a month.

She mostly listened at first. The ban on business conversation left her with relatively little to talk about. Angela and Ellison filled it in for her, with talk about their families. In particular, Angela’s son had just earned a scholarship to a private academy. Karen knew her son had Asperger’s, but was otherwise a very gifted student.  “You know, I feel bad about it in a way, I really _do_ believe in public schools, it’s just the one in my neighborhood isn’t the best match for my boy. They’re underfunded on special education, and at some point you just have to make a call for what’s right for your family.” She shrugged.

“Oh, absolutely,” Ellison replied, and Stantacki nodded. Stantacki was saying even less than Karen, but that was normal for him.

“You don’t talk much about your family, Karen, did you see them over the holidays?”

Ellison cleared his throat. “Um, Manus, Karen’s not really—”

“I can tell her myself,” Karen interrupted. “We’re…we’re not really on speaking terms. We haven’t been for…years. I…I actually spent Christmas day with a friend and his family. Fog—Franklin Nelson, from the old firm I worked at.”

“Huh! You hadn’t told me that,” said Ellison. “How did it go?”

“Well, um, at first they were all excited because they thought I was a girlfriend he was bringing home. He had to explain we were just friends, and his mom looked really disappointed, and his cousin kept ribbing him about how he knew he couldn’t nab someone like me. Which is, you know, funny, because he’s actually been kind of off and on with someone _way_ hotter than me, so…but, um, they were nice. Made me feel welcome just for the dinner we had. I hadn’t really had a Christmas with family for a long time.”

“You still keep in touch with your friends from your old firm?” Angela asked.

“Um, Foggy, all the time, we meet up at least once a week. Matt…Matt Murdock, the other partner, it’s a little more complicated. He’s sort of the reason the firm broke up, and it’ll…it’ll take a while to fix that, I think?”

 “Well, it’s good to know you have _some_ friends outside of work. I swear you live like a hermit sometimes.”

“Oh, it’s okay, I don’t mind being alone sometimes, really. I’ve been getting a lot of reading done. All the classic literature I managed to avoid back in the day.”

“Such as?” Ellison leaned back in his seat, one eyebrow raised slightly.

“Um, _The Great Gatsby_. I finished that first.”

“How on earth did you get through high school without reading _The Great Gatsby_?”

“I was…out sick. At the time.” Karen cleared her throat. Actually, she’d been out with a broken arm from her father’s latest burst of anger with her, but she didn’t feel like spoiling an otherwise pleasant conversation. “Anyway, it’s, uh, I don’t know why people think it’s _the_ great American novel or whatever, but I liked the, um, the kind of messed up characters and relationships? It felt real, you know, so it was well-written that way.”

“You know,” Stantacki put down his fork, the first time he’d spoken for the entire lunchtime. “If you like reading and you want to meet friends, maybe you should join a book group.”

“A book group? I wouldn’t even know how to find one.”

“You could join mine. We meet the first Tuesday of every month.”

“I don’t know if I could finish a book by then…”

“Then just come and listen.” He shrugged. “Up to you.”

“Thanks for letting me know, I’ll…I’ll think about it.”

Ellison smiled at her warmly and she felt sheepish. This had been part of his plan, obviously. Ellison was taking care of her. She was a little too old to be his daughter, but it still felt like he was trying to take a parental role with her in addition to being her boss. He managed it better than her father ever had.

She spent the rest of the afternoon checking sources on a very mundane story Harrison was writing about a string of vandalism incidents. It was enough to keep her thought occupied until that evening, when she collapsed on her bed and had her first good night's sleep in weeks.


	4. I'll look into it

Karen caught Howard Arminsen as he was coming out of an upscale restaurant. She’d seen his driver waiting for him in a car by the curb, and she and the photographer who’d come with her, Alonzo, had camped out nearby. She was glad she’d chosen flats that day, because she managed to sprint from the spot around the corner that they’d been hiding in. Swooping in as she did, she literally blindsided Arminsen, and it gave her an opportunity to flash her press badge and ask, “Mr. Arminsen, Karen Page with the Bulletin, do you have anything to say about the allegations being leveled against you?”

Arminsen rolled his eyes as he tried to maneuver past her. “No comment.”

Karen ducked back into his path. She knew by now that, so long as you had a photographer with you, most men wouldn’t risk getting caught on film laying a hand on a thin blonde woman. “Mr. Arminsen, sources have claimed that you _knew_ your building had dangerous amounts of lead paint and you did nothing to try to fix it.”

He stepped away from her, eyes flicking between her, the car, and the camera. “My lawyer is handling all those questions.”

“The same lawyer who sources say bribed Councilman Reynard to keep inspectors out of your building?”

“Sour—what sources?!” Arminsen was scowling now, his facing beginning to purple with irritation. Karen could hear his driver starting to approach with a concerned “Sir…?” and she knew she didn’t have much time. She started talking faster.

“Are you denying the charges being brought against you?”

“No comment!” An arm came up to brush her aside, and Alonzo snapped a photo, which brought it right down. “What newspaper did you say you were with?”

“Mr. Arminsen, if you would just please answer my questions, _were_ you aware there was still lead paint in your building?”

“Talk to my lawyer about it!”

“And what will he tell us?”

“To get lost and mind your own business!”

“That makes it sound like you have something to hide.”

“I have nothing to hide!”

“The lead paint, the bribes—”

“All baseless rumors—”

“But when inspectors _did_ search your building, they _did_ find lead paint, and high levels in the bloodstreams of some of your tenants.”

“I had no knowledge—”

“—that you were poisoning your tenants?”

“I didn’t poisoned them! It’s not my damn fault they can’t stop their idiot children from eating paint!”

The moment the words flew out of his mouth, the furious color in Arminsen’s face drained away to a ghastly white. He was sweating under his bad comb-over, and when he saw the recorder in Karen’s hand, he lunged for it.

Alonzo had photos of the whole thing.

Half the office went out for drinks together that night, with Ellison buying, and Karen got more congratulations than she felt she actually deserved. “All I did was be really annoying.”

“That’s 90% of this job,” Harrison told her. “I _love_ those photos. Alonzo, how’d you keep him from going after you?”

“I’m a big scary black dude, duh,” he shouted back from down the bar, which got a few laughs. Alonzo was five-foot-four if he was lucky.

“Seriously, though, if you hadn’t been there,” Karen said, raising her own glass. “I need you on my team more often!” Alonzo returned her toast, and Harrison gave her a slap on the back that made her choke on her drink.

Angela, sitting on the other side of her from Harrison, grinned. “Don’t kill her, she’s practically keeping this paper afloat.”

“Oh, no, no, no, I’m…I’m still getting the hang of this, I’ve just been lucky with a few stories.” Karen wiped her mouth and cleared her throat. “Besides, if I didn’t have all of you editing what I write I think I’d be screwed. I mean, what does Ellison say? I’m not supposed to be writing editorial?”

“Yeah, well, you’re part of a long line of muckrakers who can’t keep their opinions out of things,” Angela reminded her. “And you manage fine coming up with a balance most of the time, especially on the vigilante cases. Besides, honestly, pure objectivity’s overrated. Sometimes one side just plain _is_ wrong.”

“Especially with a slumlord like Arminsen,” Harrison added. “God, I _loved_ those photos!”

It was late by the time they said their goodbyes, and Karen realized she’d forgotten about the grocery shopping she’d planned to do. Fortunately the bodega between the bar and her apartment was open until midnight, and she dropped in to grab the few essentials she needed – bread, toilet paper, a couple of cans of soup.

Then, by the freezer in the back, where she was debating whether to splurge on ice cream, she ran into Matt. He was clearly out for the same reason she was, grocery bag in hand. The narrowness of the aisles meant avoiding him was impossible, and given how unsurprised he seemed, Karen wondered whether he’d known she was in the store since the moment she entered.

“Matt,” she managed. “Hi.”

“Hi.” He smiled, a little tensely.

“I’m surprised you’re not…out.” Karen glanced around the bodega. It was mostly empty, just the two of them and the cashier. Not a lot of people were out grocery shopping for more than hot pockets at 10 at night.

“I will be, later. But I _do_ still have to eat.”

“It’s a shame your superpowers don’t cover that.”

Matt chuckled a little. “You want to check out together? Maybe talk? I could walk you home.”

“Talk, sure, but you don’t have to go out of your way, I know you’ve got things to do.” Karen felt nervous, made worse by knowing that he _knew_ she was nervous, was reading her like a human lie detector, knew all sorts of things about her that she couldn’t tell about him. Dealing with Daredevil, that had been easy. Talking to Matt, walking even partway home with him? Difficult. She paid the cashier, then waited at the door for him to follow her.

“How’ve you been?” she asked him as they walked down the street, Matt opening his cane and tapping ahead of him. “I follow Daredevil in the papers, but…what do you do? You know, when you’re not out defending Hell’s Kitchen.”

“I sleep during the day, a lot. I’m getting better rest than I used to. I’ve got a part-time job at a bookstore sweeping up, that helps pay the bills.”

Karen rubbed the strap on her messenger bag with her thumb. “I thought you said that… _Elektra_ had left you some money.” Elektra. The rich client who’d turned out to be an ex-girlfriend who Matt had, in contritely Catholic fashion, confessed to being “emotionally involved with,” but not physically, as if that somehow made it better.

“…She did,” and there was a sadness in his voice that ate at her. “But it won’t last long if I’m not careful. Rent’s not cheap in New York City.”

“Right.” Karen watched him walking. “Do you really need to do that?”

“Do what?”

“Use a cane. Can’t you _see_ everything already? With the echolocation thing you told me about?”

“Um, yes, but, one, the tapping works as a kind of ping, and two, if I didn’t use it, everyone would start to wonder how a blind man walks around town without it.”

“Oh, so it’s all part of the act.”

“It’s not _all_ – I said, it’s a ping, okay? Plus, it comes in handy if I need to improvise a weapon.”

Karen stopped him at a street corner, placing a hand lightly on his arm. “The light’s red. Or did you know that already?”

“No, but I can hear the traffic patterns. It’s usually been enough to keep me from getting run over.”

“Okay. I’m just…trying to figure out what exactly you can do, and what you can’t, and what you only _pretended_ you couldn’t.”

Matt took a deep breath. “Karen, I know I should have told you sooner, but these things are complicated. By the time we were dating I—”

Then Earth, Wind, & Fire started playing on her phone. Karen froze, watching Matt’s brow furrow. Her heart was racing, he had to be able to hear that. Just like he’d be able to hear whoever she was talking to on the phone. But she _needed_ to pick up, needed to keep the tenuous trust she had with Frank going. Maybe she could do it, maybe she’d be lucky and she could start talking before he did. She hit the call-accept button.

She wasn’t lucky. “You around this evening?”

Matt’s eyebrows rose over his glasses and his hands tightened on his cane.

“Yes, I’m just running some errands, I’ll be heading back in just a few minutes.”

“Good. See you there.”

Karen hung up the phone, still watching Matt’s face, which had stiffened into an impenetrable mask. “I can explain.”

“I am _all_ ears.”

Karen pulled him off the street, away from the pedestrians out at that late an hour, and onto an unoccupied stoop. She glanced around to make certain no one was watching them too closely before she told him, “You know your theory about Fisk helping him escape? He’s helping me prove it.”

Matt’s voice was the pinnacle of exasperation. “ _Seriously_ , Karen?”

“Yes, seriously, he’s a good lead!”

“This is dangerous!”

“I know, I know, but…Fisk is going to come after us all at some point anyway, I’d rather be proactive than sit around waiting for it to happen.”

“I meant working with _Frank_.”

“He’s never hurt me, Matt, in fact he’s saved my life, multiple times.”

“You’re working with a criminal!”

“I’ve got shield law to cover me so long as he doesn’t do anything illegal in front of me.”

“He’s an escaped convict, Frank being out of prison _itself_ is illegal.”

Karen shifted uncomfortably. “Well, officially he’s dead, so _technically_ there’s no warrant out for his arrest.”

“Yeah, nice bending the law there.”

“Says the,” Karen checked the street again, and hissed, “ _masked vigilante_.”

“…Okay, fine, point taken. But I’ve accepted the risks of what I’m doing, Karen, and I’m the only person who can do it. Other people could try to take on Fisk, there are other sources you could use.”

“But they _won’t_. They either think he’s gone for good or they’re on his side. Frank and I are the only ones who know the risk and are willing to take it.”

“Right,” Matt’s mouth became a thin line as he looked down at the steps, then back up at her. “And of course this is _definitely_ not an excuse for you to help Frank again.”

Karen pulled back from him as if she’d been slapped. “What is _that_ supposed to mean?”

“Look,” Matt grimaced, rubbing his temple. “I know the two of you connected during the trial. You care about him. Probably more than you realize, even. Which isn’t a bad thing, that’s how you _are_ , you care passionately about anyone you know who needs your help, it’s what I’ve always lo—what I’ve always _admired_ about you. Giving up on someone isn’t _you_.”

“I’m dogsitting for him, Matt, I’m not trying to save his soul.” She folded her arms around her chest, as if to hold herself in. “What broke Frank is beyond anything I can fix.”

“Right, but you could keep him from getting worse.”

“I’m not that naïve—”

“No, I mean it, you _could_ keep him from getting worse. And he’ll fight you because of that.” When she looked at him in confusion, Matt sighed and continued. “Frank believes he has nothing left in this world other than his war, he’s told me as much. He believes it because he _needs_ to believe it, because anything or anyone he might care about would make him start questioning what he’s doing, make him realize that his actions will have consequences that hurt good people. So he will push you away as hard as he can if you get close, because you’re a distraction, a hazard, a tie to the normal world that might hold him back, keep him sane.”

“What, you’re a-a-a psychological profiler now? You can’t _know_ that.”

“Yes, I _can_ , because I did the _exact_ same thing to you, to Claire, to Foggy, and every day I wish I could take it all back!”

Matt swallowed hard, outburst over, his hands clenching and re-clenching on his cane. Karen suddenly felt her heart squeeze with pity, and she realized, painfully, that he was right. Giving up on someone wasn’t her, and that included Matt.

“Then quit this,” she said softly.

“I can’t quit being Daredevil, Karen.”

“No, I mean quit working part-time at a bookstore. You’re a _lawyer_ , Matt, you graduated summa cum laude, you should be helping people in a courtroom too.”

He shook his head. “I think I already proved that I can’t handle doing both.”

“Only because you insist on taking everything on yourself!”

“Look, I know I can’t, and that’s…that’s why I’m not going to stop you looking into Fisk. Because, yes, I…I could use some help covering all my bases. But there’s more going on in this city than you could possibly imagine, things I’m not even sure I completely understand yet, and I don’t want to get civilians involved in it.”

“You’re not the only superhero out there, Matt.”

“Right, because the Avengers have _so_ much time on their hands, what with the fallout from Sokovia.”

“I don’t mean them.” For a moment she considered bringing up what she’d uncovered about Jessica, but seeing how hard she’d tried to hide it, Karen felt as if telling Matt would be uncomfortably like outing someone. Instead, she chose the other story going around the city. “Okay, so, I’ve heard these…rumors coming out of Harlem. There’s supposed to be this guy up there that you can hire to take care of problems the police aren’t handling.”

“A mercenary?” Matt sounded skeptical.

“The impression I get is he only takes the cases he thinks are worthy and his pay is very sliding scale. But the important thing is, he’s apparently unkillable. Bullets, knives, everything, they just bounce off of him.”

“…that seems unlikely.”

“More unlikely than a blind man who has supersenses and knows kung fu? Or, you know, a scientist who turns into a green giant or a mind-controlling serial killer, or—”

“Okay, okay, right, I get it. I’ll…look into it. I could at least check with Claire whether she’s heard anything about it.”

“All right, I have to ask…who is Claire?”

“Um, a nurse. She helps me out sometimes when I’m too hurt to take care of it myself.”

“…is that _all_ she is?”

The length of Matt’s hesitation answered her question. “It was long over by the time you and I started dating, Karen, and she’s the one who ended it. So it’s not—”

“—like Elektra.”

Matt flinched. “No. Not like Elektra.”

Karen bit her lip and inhaled hard, pushing down her hurt. “Okay. Well. I need to go to my meetup with Frank. And I need you to not follow me. Take your groceries home, suit up, go be the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, and let me do my job. Can you handle that?”

Matt let out a heavy breath. “Do I have to like it?”

“That’s optional.”

“I…will stay out of you and Frank’s business. For right now. If this whole investigation goes south, though…let me know. Let me _help_.”

“Right.” Karen wavered, then decided to give him a quick one-armed hug. “Stay safe, Matt. I worry more about you than you probably do about me.”

“I doubt it.”

Karen repeatedly glanced over her shoulder to make sure Matt was staying true to his word and not following her. She supposed he could have sprung up to the rooftops and might be watching her every move right now. Planning on listening in on whatever she and Frank talked about.

No, no, she wanted to trust him, she really did. But you could only be lied to so many times…

Frank was sitting on the steps of her apartment building, coat closed and a ball cap pulled low as his only disguise, a bag of kibble and a duffle beside him. Max’s leash was tied to the railing. The dog raised his head as she approached and started panting excitedly. Apparently he remembered her.

“Okay, Frank, from now on? Text me, don’t call.”

“Hmm? Why?”

“I was talking to Matt when you called. He overheard everything.”

Frank considered that for a moment, then shrugged. “He try to stop you?”

“He thinks it’s a bad idea, but no, he didn’t try to stop me.”

“See? Red ain’t as bad as you think. As for me, I don’t give a shit if he knows I’m helping you, matter of fact, I’m kind of glad. Means you’ve got someone to turn to if you ever get sick of me.”

“Well, better him than Foggy. I think knowing I was working with you would give him ulcers.” She gestured to the items on the step. “Is this everything?”

“Yeah.” He unzipped the duffle, and held it up so she could see some of the contents inside: a rolled up dog bed, a few toys, and two feeding dishes. “It’ll only be a week,” he assured her. “I’ll take him off your hands after that.”

“Well, since I have you here right now,” and for an instant Karen wasn’t sure exactly how to do this, there wasn’t much space. She pushed aside the bags he’d brought with her feet, set down her groceries, and made a spot for herself on the steps next to him. Frank tried to scoot away to give her more room, but he was already nearly at the railing, and so Karen plunked down right beside him. “I’ve got some faces for you to look at.”

She pulled a folder out of her messenger bag and placed it open on his lap. She had printed out pictures of all the guards that were in the cell block when Frank made his escape and numbered them. She had a key matching the numbers with their names, but Karen had decided she wasn’t certain enough about Frank’s promise to give him too much information about anyone he might want dead.

“Do you recognize anybody?”

Frank peered at the photos for a long time. Minutes passed, and Karen had time to glance up from the folder and realize she was sitting awfully close to him. Not touching, but near enough that she could feel his warmth in the cold winter air. No wonder he looked slightly uncomfortable. She could also smell him, and he didn’t smell like someone living out of a van. Which meant he was living somewhere stable. A house, an apartment. Where? Up in Inwood? Was he alone, or was he with whoever was helping him?

She looked up and down the street, hoping no one would notice that the Punisher was casually sitting next to her. Karen supposed that Frank wasn’t exactly scared of getting caught, not with the way he never concealed his crimes, but it was her own ass that she really needed to cover at this point.

“You got a pen?” he asked, finally.

“Yeah, one second.” She fished it out of her bag and handed it to him. Frank took the pen and drew a series of Xs through at least ten of the guards’ faces. When he was done he handed the pen back to her.

“They were all there when Fisk had them lock the gate on me, trapped me in there with the other prisoners to get me killed.”

“So they’re almost definitely on Fisk’s payroll.”

“ _Most_ definitely.”

“I guess maybe I should look at the others…”

“Yeah, well, maybe they were just out to lunch. If I were you, I would assume every last one of ’em is in his pocket, whether he bribed ’em or threatened ’em. What you need to look at is, have any of them left since then?”

Karen nodded slowly. “Right. If they’ve been transferred somewhere else, that would put them outside of his range, at least a little. Released prisoners too, probably.”

“ _Now_ you’re thinking.”

“Well, in that case, maybe these guards,” she pointed to Frank’s x-ed out faces, “are the ones I should start with. Find out where they are now, since we _know_ they were involved with Fisk.”

“You keep at it. I’m going to be busy.”

He lifted his eyes from the folder for the first time to look at her, and Karen suddenly felt very awkward with their position. She knew her face was flushing and she quickly took the folder from him and stood up. “Right, Max. Let me get him upstairs.”

That proved more difficult than she’d thought. With her own bags, the duffle, the kibble, the leash – she’d need at least four arms, and she dropped the kibble bag trying to balance it. Frank grabbed it before it hit the ground and offered, “I’ll give you a hand.”

So Karen took her bags and the duffle, and Frank took the kibble and corralled Max into the building, up the steps, and to the door of Karen’s apartment. This was making her apprehensiveness worse by the minute. Several of her neighbors were unabashed snoops, and she didn’t think they’d fail to notice a tall, strange man bringing bags up to her place late at night. And Frank’s face wasn’t exactly unknown.

Fortunately she didn’t see any heads poking out into the hallway, and after fumbling nervously with her keys, she opened the door and the three of them spilled inside. Max began making a circuit of the room, sniffing everything, dragging his leash behind him. Frank set the kibble down and took in the apartment too. “Not a bad place.”

“It’s a dump.”

“Better than mine.” He walked to the window, pulled back the curtain, and gave an impressed nod. “No windows out there. Good. Nobody’ll be able to take a shot at you.”

“That was the idea.” Karen opened the duffle and pulled out Max’s bed, setting it at one end of her couch and dropping the toys next to it. She handed the food bowls to Frank, who set them on her kitchen tile and opened the kibble bag. That brought Max running, and he dug in when Frank poured him a serving.

“Don’t give him too much. Just two cups a day. Keep the water fresh. And he needs to be walked at least twice, morning and night.” Frank was crouched low, removing the leash and rubbing Max’s ears. Karen sort of loved the goofy expression he had as he looked at his dog. It was like catching a glimpse of Frank Castle before his entire world had ended. Before the Punisher.

“I’ll take good care of him, Frank. I had a dog when I was growing up, I know how to do it.”

Frank rose and adjusted his coat. “All right then. I will see you in a week.”

“Remember, text me next time.”

“Will do.” He smiled, gave her a mock salute, and then strode out of her apartment.

Karen closed the door, locking every bolt and feeling a sudden rush of relief. She'd been tenser than she’d realized. Why, she wasn’t sure, but for whatever reason having Frank in her apartment was…he just shouldn’t be there. It felt very much like getting too close.

She ran her hands through her hair, suddenly tired. Her knees gave out and she slipped to the floor, back against her door. The slight thump of her sitting down made Max raise his head, and he trotted over to her, licking her once on the face before lying down beside her. Karen rubbed him behind the ears the way Frank had, and his leg twitched happily.

“Well, aren’t you a good boy,” she whispered, a slight smile running over her lips as she remembered Frank describing Max as a baby. Then Matt’s words rang in her ears: You care about him, probably more than you realize.

And she did. She did, or otherwise she would not be agreeing to this, she knew it.

That was how Matt saw her. Karen the Caring, Karen the Passionate and Compassionate. His saint, his perfect girlfriend, the rational alternative to the assassin he’d fallen in a doomed love with.

Then again, that was Matt, wasn’t it? He believed the best of almost everyone, it’s why he wouldn’t kill the way Frank did. He’d believed the best in her, unknowingly, trustingly, and that had always been part of his appeal. She wanted to be exactly what Matt saw whenever he looked at her.

But she wasn’t. And if he knew, how would he look at her then?

Karen got up and started peeling off her clothes, digging through her drawers for warm pajamas. Max followed behind her. She smiled as she scratched his ears one last time and pointed him to his bed where he curled up to sleep.

It occurred to Karen that, despite being single and against her best efforts, she’d nonetheless wound up with too many men in her life. As she rubbed her sore feet and crawled under the covers, she made her decision.

It was about time to contact Jessica Jones.


	5. I am a good person

“No, Max, I’m not taking you out.” The dog was following at her heels as she tried to make her way out of the door. “I’m sorry, but I’m going to meet someone, you’ll have to wait here.”

He started whimpering as she pushed him back, and it broke her heart. She reached down and scratched his ears the way he liked. “I promise I’ll be back soon.” Max rubbed his head against her knee, and she gave up. “Oh, fine, let me get your leash.”

Karen had become far too attached to this dog. It had only been three days, but she really liked Max. He was a genuine sweetheart, as if his time dogfighting had only made him crave more love, which Karen was more than glad to give. She could completely understand why Frank hadn’t given this one up to a shelter the way he had the other dogs. The only time Max wasn’t friendly was every once in a while on walks, when someone would get in his way and he would start growling defensively. Karen had learned how to calm him down with a quick “No, Max, you’re safe.” She was going to hate giving him up at the end of the week.

It wasn’t _that_ far to Alias Investigations, a longer hike than it had been to Nelson  & Murdock but close enough that Karen and Max were able to walk it. Max kept her going at a brisk pace, and Karen was pretty sure she was getting the best cardio workout of her life simply by taking care of him. People also steered clear of her when they saw a bulky pit bull coming towards them, which made walking fairly easy. It wasn’t long before they reached Jessica’s building, and Karen brought Max into the lobby where she tied him to the door handle of an empty office space.

“Stay good,” she said as she patted him on the head.

Up the steps, down a hall, she found the door with “Alias Investigations” written across it and knocked tentatively. A man’s voice from the other side shouted “It’s open!” and she came in to find a young man with poofed up hair manning a phone, while Jessica was sitting at the desk, thumbing through photographs. She didn’t look up when Karen walked in.

“Um, excuse me, I was hoping I could talk with you. I’m Karen Page, I had an appointment?”

That got her attention, and she set the photos down. “Uh, yeah, yeah, I forgot, sit down. I’ve been _way_ too busy lately.”

“Plus you don’t check your calendar,” the man reminded her, placing a hand over the receiver. “Yes, we’ll call you back,” he finished on the phone and hung it up.

“You want coffee?” Jessica asked.

“Sure. I sort of live on the stuff.”

“Malcolm, get her coffee.”

He rolled his eyes, but went over to the coffee machine to pour her a mug anyway. Karen accepted it with a thank you, and the man named Malcolm leaned against the wall behind Jessica.

“So. Can I ask why you chose me? Am I the only PI you know, or did Nelson recommend you?”

Karen fidgeted with her bag, debating how to lead into this. “I, um…okay, so I did some research into you after meeting you the other day because Foggy said there were…rumors about you.”

Jessica didn’t react.

“You’re strong. A lot stronger than you should be. You had an accident as a child that killed your family and—”

“Stop.” Jessica held up a hand. “Why does this matter? I’m an investigator, I don’t beat people up unless I absolutely have to.”

“No, I mean…what I’m going to ask you to do might potentially be dangerous, and I’m just glad to know that you’re the sort of person who can protect herself.”

Jessica raised an eyebrow at that. “Really? Huh. Well, that’s not too surprising.”

Karen froze, hand gripping her mug. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve been doing a little research on you too, actually, since you called for an appointment. You used to work for Union Allied, suddenly quit, then the next thing you know, huh, there’s a story leaked to the Bulletin…where you now work.”

She nodded. “I will openly admit to being behind that, yes. They killed one of my coworkers and tried to pin it on me, I wasn’t going to let that go.”

“Uh _huh_. And before the Bulletin, you had a brief stint at a short-lived law firm, most famous for defending Frank Castle, a.k.a. the Punisher…who you now write about at your new job.”

“I know the rumors, but Frank Castle is dead, those are all copycat killers…” Jessica was giving her a “please don’t bullshit me” look, and Karen shrugged. “That’s the official story, anyway.”

“You buy it?”

“Um…well, it seems unlikely that all these killings would look so similar and be committed by random persons. But…I saw the boat go up, too, so…” She wasn’t sure whether Jessica could tell how much she was keeping from her, but she wasn’t technically lying either.

“Yeah, sure. Just _please_ tell me that Frank Castle fell in your category of ‘guys who have it coming.’”

Karen started to bite her lip, then straightened out her face. “He was…complicated.”

Jessica sniffed dismissively. “Yeah, I know, it was godawful what happened to him, but everybody’s got a tragic backstory, we don’t all turn into the Punisher.”

“Right, but we don’t all get bullets in our skulls either,” Karen snapped. Jessica’s eyes widened a little, but in for a penny in for a pound, she plowed ahead. “Frank Castle might have been in denial about his injury having any effect on him, but Frank was in denial about a _lot_ of things. He might not have met the definition of legally insane, but his judgment was seriously impaired.”

She paused. Jessica was still sitting there, listening. The silence made her uncomfortable. Karen tried to cover it by drinking her coffee, but ultimately broke.

“And the thing is…,” she went on, quieter now, “prepping him for trial, there were times you could…see what he was like before. Before his family was murdered, before he was shot. He…the man he was before, _that_ man didn’t have it coming, any of it. Which is why we tried to talk him into pleading down for a lighter sentence, to get him _help_. I know maybe that all sounds stupid, you know, believing in somebody like Frank Castle, but…”

She realized her speech had turned into babbling, and Jessica had been playing the same waiting game she used to get interviewees to talk to her. “Yeah, it _is_ stupid. But I guess it’s the kind of stupid that makes sense if you’ve lived it.” She leaned back in her chair. “So. What do you need my help with?”

“That’s it? You’ll help me?”

“Pfft, not for _free_. But I’ll give you a discount rate if you keep your mouth shut about me.”

“I would do that anyway.”

“Hm.”

“All right. I need you to track someone.” She placed some stapled papers from her bag onto Jessica’s desk, and the other woman picked them up, leafing through the pages. “He was a prison guard at Riker’s who got transferred to a lower security facility a month ago. I need to know where he goes, who he hangs out with, what his finances are, anything you can give me.”

Jessica briefly glanced up from the pages before turning back to them. “What’d he do that you care?”

“I believe he was involved in a plot by Wilson Fisk to release the Punisher.”

That made Jessica’s eyes go huge. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah. It was too big of a coincidence that Frank blew his trial without warning, wound up in the same prison block as Fisk, then miraculously escaped just a short while later.”

“Wouldn’t Fisk be, like, exactly the kind of asshole Castle would’ve murdered rather than helping?”

“Frank could be really irrational when it came to finishing his revenge on the people who killed his family.”

Jessica exhaled loudly and frowned. “Okay, yeah, this could be super dangerous. Forget about that discount rate offer.”

“I figured.”

“I can give you the forms, you fill them out with your information. I’ll need a payment upfront to cover some costs.”

Karen reached into her purse and pulled out her checkbook, writing down the amount Jessica gave her. It would be a chunk of this month’s paycheck, but she’d be able to cover it if she was careful. “So…” she began, as she ripped off the check and handed it to her. “Um. Foggy told me you decked Alex after I left? I’ve kind of been hoping to hear the whole story behind that.”

“Ugh,” Jessica grimaced. “Not much of a story, he was just being a tool.”

“He didn’t say anything about me, did he?”

“No, it was him calling me the ‘office bitch’ where I was too close to hear him. I mean, I kind of am, but he doesn’t have any room to talk, he’s the office dick.”

Karen smiled. “In my experience, women who get called bitches are the ones who have the gall to speak their minds and stand up to bullies. So…I’d take it as a compliment.”

She heard Malcolm chortle at that. He’d been so quiet she’d almost forgotten he was there.

“Yeah, well, I’m used to it by now.”

“You know…” Karen cleared her throat. “Um, we don’t have to meet at your office or anything. There’s a nice bar, the Farrington, not far from H, C, & B that Foggy and I go to a lot. It wouldn’t be too out of the way for either of us…”

“I’m not into women,” Jessica said bluntly.

“No! Oh, no, I’m not…I’m not asking you out, I’m…look, the way I see it, you and I have more in common than you realize, okay? I mean, I love coffee but I love booze too, and I get called a bitch more times than you can imagine and…”

“She’ll do it,” Malcolm said. Jessica shot him a dirty look. “What? You need more than just one friend.”

“I have more than one friend!”

“Really? Who?”

“Well, there’s you!”

“I’m your office assistant.”

“Jeri—”

“You can barely stand her.”

“God, what are you, my mother? I don’t need you to arrange me playdates. Besides, this Fairy-whatever sounds way too classy.”

“Do you know Josie’s?” Karen offered. “Very dive bar, I used to be a regular. Also a pretty good place to be inconspicuous.”

Jessica scowled, looking back between Malcolm (defiantly staring back at her) and Karen (hoping so badly that she’d say yes). “ _Fine_ , inconspicuousness is probably good. I’ll call you when I find something.”

Karen breathed a sigh of relief, then heard loud barking from below. “Oh shit, that’s probably my dog. Um, yeah, call me, I’ll see you later.”

She dashed out of the office and went downstairs to find Max snapping at an older woman who was backed against the wall, a panicked look in her eyes. “Someone call the police!” she shrieked.

“Down, Max!” Karen shouted, rushing to him and grabbing his collar. Max stopped barking, but he didn’t relax, still growling low. Karen petted and shushed him, waiting to feel the tension in his body relax. “What did you _do_?” she demanded.

“I didn’t do anything! That’s a wild beast!”

“He never attacks unless someone provokes him.” Karen glared at her accusingly.

The woman looked sheepish. “Well, it was blocking the hall and I may have given it a little nudge with my foot…”

“You kicked him, yeah, that would do it.” She turned back to Max. “You’re safe, sweetie, she won’t hurt you.”

The dog finally relented, turning its head toward her and licking her cheek. The other woman beat a hasty retreat down the hall.

“You know, you’re not supposed to have dogs in the building.” Karen turned to see that Malcolm had followed her down.

“Sorry, I didn’t want to leave him outside and he didn’t want to stay cooped up at home.”

“Yeah, I get you.” Malcolm peered over at Max. “That is a _big_ dog.”

“He’s not mine, actually.” Karen hadn’t meant to call Max hers; she was worried that it had slipped out that easily. “I’m watching him for a friend.”

“Ah.” Malcolm paused. “Look, I mean it, Jess needs more friends. She’s been through a really bad couple of years, and even if you and her don’t hit it off, she needs to make the effort. Also, she can drink too much, so cut her off after she gets a little tipsy…”

“She’s right,” Karen quipped. “You _are_ trying to be her mother.”

Malcolm grinned. “Well, in another life I was a social worker, it’s in my nature to take care of people.”

“What happened?”

He stuck his hands into his pockets and sighed. “Same as her. Kilgrave. It’s taking a while to build my life back, and in the meantime she’s been letting me work with her.”

“It’s hard to believe that kind of thing exists in the world, you know? I mean, aliens and super soldiers, that’s at least something you can fight, but stuff like mind control?” Karen shuddered. “I’m glad _he’s_ off the streets, at least.”

“Me too. Well, take care with this case of yours, okay?”

“I will.” She untied Max’s leash and patted his head. “It’s a shame I don’t get to keep this guy.”

It _was_ a shame. She decided that since she had the rest of the day off from work, she’d take Max to Central Park and let him run off his leash for a while.  Sitting on a bench, fiddling with her phone, she kept one eye on him as he bounced about, making contact with some other dogs. Watching him in such a good mood, it was hard to imagine his vicious side.

God, he was just like his owner, wasn’t he?

Karen had a rude awakening the next morning. Literally, Ellison’s call woke her up. “We’ve got another one for you. Early reports aren’t pleasant.”

She frowned. “What, the Punisher? But he’s—” she bit her tongue. Frank was still out of town, would be for at least three more days, but there was no way to tell Ellison why she knew that.

“Honestly, I think we may be dealing with something worse.”

They were. Karen knew it immediately when she reached the scene. Three bodies lay sprawled out in the middle of an abandoned lot, but they weren’t the only ones. There was a woman slumped in one of the doorways, crime scene examiners measuring her body. Bullet holes were everywhere, in the adjoining walls, the street signs, the dirt and grass turned up from bullet strikes.

This wasn’t the Punisher. So why was she called in? She saw Mahoney near the tape and ran up to him. “Detective!” she shouted, waving her recorder.

He looked up from a conversation with one of the examiners and let out of a sigh of exasperation. “Well, you sure got here quickly.”

“I-I’m a bit confused, my editor thought this was another Punisher killing, but this isn’t his MO.” She pointed to the mess of bullet spray and the dead woman’s body. “What the hell happened here?”

“It’s a Punisher killing,” he told her flatly. “Whoever did this left a calling card. Each of those guys out in the middle has a paper with the Punisher’s skull taped over his face.”

“What?” Karen was now completely baffled. “That’s never happened before.”

“Well, these copycats aren’t going to be consistent, now are they?”

“Copyc—look, I know you can’t say it on the record, but…” she showed him her recorder was off.

“Off the record?”

“Of course.”

Mahoney glanced around before leaning in. “Look, we _all_ know Frank Castle was very likely _not_ one of those bodies on the pier. That he’s still out there. But this is unusual, not like his other hits. He’s never left a calling card, and so far there’s been no casualties except for criminals. This,” he gestured behind him, “is sloppy. And Castle was only ever sloppy three times, with Reyes, Tepper and you.”

“Castle claimed he wasn’t responsible for any of that.”

“Yeah, you said he told you that – _after_ he kidnapped you.”

“Well, I believe him. I mean, he had the opportunity to try killing me again and he didn’t take it. Frank Castle is – was, whatever – a lot of things. Ruthless, hot-tempered, distant, but he wasn’t reckless. Not like this.”

“Yeah, I agree with you. I always figured Reyes and Tepper were an exception because they were tied so close to his family’s murder, and that Blacksmith guy used it as an opportunity to go after you. But these folks? Just some idiots roughing up people around the neighborhood.”

“Not the usual profile for the Punisher’s victims either. Too trivial.”

“Exactly. Now, you want my statement on the record?”

Karen turned her recorder on.

“Whoever the latest copycat of Frank Castle is, they’re new at this. Different from the ones before. They’re leaving a calling card, and they aren’t taking precautions to keep bystanders safe. We’re going to treat this as a new player, and we _will_ be bringing them to justice.” His face was still grim, but he managed an awkward smile. “How does that sound?”

She turned it off. “It will look good in the paper. Maybe even front page.” She took another look around the scene and shook her head. “I hope you get this guy.”

“As opposed to the _other_ guy?” Mahoney looked at her askance. “Whose side are you on in this, Ms. Page?”

“Well, Frank hasn’t killed any innocent bystanders so far, so let’s say he’s less of a priority.” She shuddered as her eyes flickered to the dead woman. “Did she have family?”

“Two kids, eight and five.”

“ _Shit_.” Karen ran a hand through her hair. “Were there any witnesses? Anybody to talk to?”

“No, but we’re finishing up with her building manager if you want a personal story for the article.”

“Thanks.”

Her name was Sandra Hodgins, but she’d been going by her maiden name, Young, ever since she’d left her abusive husband three months ago and moved into the new apartment with her children. She’d been trying to get a divorce case going against him, collecting her medical records of bruises and burns that could keep her children out of his custody. Some lawyer had been helping her out on the side, her manager couldn’t remember who.

“She was rebuilding here,” he told her, his face utterly devastated. “She didn’t deserve this. And you know what’s worse? Those kids’ll probably go straight back to their dad.”

“Not if I can help it,” Karen said firmly. “Did you see or hear _anything_?”

“No, I wasn’t even here last night, I’ve got three buildings to look after. Do you…do you really think the Punisher did this? I mean, I know he’s a criminal, but he usually goes after his own kind. Those three there? They were just boys. Not even twenty yet, just stupid teenagers hustling schoolkids for lunch money, they didn’t deserve this either.”

Even if Karen hadn’t known that Frank was out of town, she’d have been absolutely certain by now that this wasn’t him. “The police are leaning towards a new copycat,” she said. “I’ll make sure bringing their killer to justice stays a priority, believe me.”

That was the good part of this job. She could put up with gruesome crime scenes, stress, danger, her own moral uncertainty about Frank Castle, all of it, if it meant being able to bring attention to what they’d all rather ignore. If it meant getting help for the people of New York City who needed it the most. If it meant getting the scumbags of the city off the street.

Ellison was waiting at the doorway for her when she got back to her office. She collapsed into her chair and rested her head in her hands, elbows all that were keeping her from laying it down on the desk. “I’m sorry,” he simply said.

“Not your fault. I agreed to be the go-to on all Punisher cases.” She raised her face and placed her hands under her chin, palms down. “It’s a copycat. Or a _new_ copycat, officially. He’s a careless asshole who killed someone who wasn’t even involved, and his victims were saints compared to the guys the Punisher takes out.”

“You mean the _real_ Punisher?” Ellison slid into her office and shut the door behind him. “You don’t think Castle was involved at all?”

“No," she spat, "it’s some wannabe. Left a calling card like he’s _proud_ of it.”

“This was inevitable. Right after the Daredevil started his career, the police had a rash of people trying to beat up street thugs, usually getting hurt in the process because they didn’t know what the hell they were doing. It figures the Punisher would get his own little band of imitators.”

“Is this my fault?” She may have hated Alex, but she remembered his words clearly. “Am I presenting him too positively? Should I be clearer that what he’s doing isn’t right?”

“Look, from my point of view, you present both sides of the story, which is what we’re supposed to do.”

“Not if one side is a mass murderer.” She leaned back in her chair, folding her arms across her chest. “Frank wouldn’t want this. I know that.”

“Well, how about this: we let you do an editorial after you finish up the report. I know I usually keep you off that, but it would let you bring in your personal experience working with Castle’s trial. You can _tell_ people this isn’t what he’d want.”

“Right.” Now she was remembering Frank’s insistence that nobody _really_ wanted to be like him. “I can talk about how he had military training, he wasn’t an amateur. He never killed anyone other than criminals, he…he didn’t even want us using an insanity defense because he didn’t want to smear the mentally ill with what he’d done. He _knew_ he was a criminal.”

“That all sounds good,” Ellison told her. “Get the article finished first, then write it up.”

She did. It took her the rest of the day. The article was easy, that was reporting facts and interviews. Karen took a break for lunch, trying to get her thoughts together, then spent much of the afternoon pacing her office, composing the editorial in her head. After multiple attempts she finally managed to get her words down.

> Some of you are aware that I knew Frank Castle. I worked for the defense on his case, and interviewed him extensively to establish his motivation and his history. While Frank Castle may – or may not – be dead now, I know that there are many who admire him and what he did. People who would want to follow in his footsteps and copy him.
> 
> Let me be clear: what happened today was not what Frank Castle would want.
> 
> Castle was the Punisher. He chose his victims carefully. Murderers, rapists, drug dealers. People who wreaked havoc on their communities. He wasn’t picking off local nuisances.
> 
> Castle was a trained, decorated military sniper, a veteran of the war in Afghanistan. He boasted to me that he was capable of taking down people with one shot and avoiding anyone else. And reports of his crimes bear this out. While the Reyes incident was an exception – and I am still not convinced that this wasn’t another copycat, starting before Frank was even dead – he never caught anyone else in his line of fire. Even with Reyes, no one died other than her. What happened to Sandra Young was an atrocity.
> 
> Castle had no illusions over what he was doing. He ultimately refused all the defenses we presented for him. He wouldn’t let his lawyers depict him as a hero or a victim. He was a killer. He certainly never made a show of his crimes. Whoever did this is trying to get attention, to latch on to the approval the Punisher killings have received in the community.
> 
> And let me assure you that whoever this is hasn’t earned that approval. They are petty, reckless, and arrogant. Do not treat this like any of the other Punisher cases. Even if you think the Punisher was a savior for the city, he would want you to bring this murderer to justice.
> 
> For whatever his other faults, Frank Castle believed in justice.

She’d find out soon enough whether Frank agreed with what she’d written.

At home, Karen barely had an appetite for dinner, reheating some leftovers and forcing herself to eat. She was too tired to take Max on his evening walk, and apologized to him as he whined at her. “Tomorrow,” she promised him. “We’ll take an extra-long one.”

Karen sat down on her couch and wrapped herself in her warmest blanket. She pulled out her copy of _Crime and Punishment_. Time to resume the misery and murder, she supposed, to see if she could finally finish it and move on to something else, something a little lighter. Max came over and jumped onto the couch next to her, laying his head in her lap. It probably wasn’t good for the couch to let him do that, but the thing was a piece of junk with a few bullet holes left in it, so why care?

She hadn’t gotten very far in the book when her phone buzzed. Karen picked it up and read her text message:

Pit bull > you alone?

She texted back

> yes

Then his ringtone began. “What do you need to say that you couldn’t say in a text?” she asked when she picked up.

“How’s Max doing?”

“He’s fine. He’s sitting here with me right now.”

“Can you put me on speaker?”

“Um, sure.” Karen switched her settings and held the phone away from her ear.

“Hey Max!” Frank’s raspy voice was tinny over the phone, but the dog still recognized him. He perked up and started panting. “Heh, hear him get excited there? How’re you doing, Max?”

Max tried to lick the phone and Karen pulled it away. “Seriously, you wanted to talk to your _dog_?”

“You like him?”

“Yeah.” Karen switched the phone off speaker mode. “He is very sweet, very energetic. Very…lovable.”

“He is, ain’t he?” Frank chuckled on the other end of the line, and Karen felt the unease from the crime scene that had plagued her the entire day drain out of her at the sound.

“How are _you_?” she asked.

“Alive. Doing bad things to bad people. Less you know the better.”

“Probably.” She almost began to tell him about the incident that day, but thought better of it. Frank would undoubtedly want to come back and take matters into his own hands, and not only did she not want to interrupt whatever it was he was doing (presumably important if he had been willing to leave behind Max), she was hoping the cops could take care of the case before he returned, to unambiguously clear his name. “I’ve, uh, hired some help in our investigation.”

“Is that safe?”

“She’s a good person, and she’d handled people who make Fisk look easy, so I think she’ll be fine. She seemed kind of reluctant to take me on with my…history.”

“…You mean with me?”

“I guess.” Karen rubbed Max’s head distractedly. “I sort of wound up defending you, or at least defending why I helped you at the trial.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“You want everyone thinking you’re a psychopath?”

“I don’t give a shit what people think of me. I know who I am, I know _what_ I am, and I just do what I do. You don’t need to defend me.” She heard him sniff and envisioned his nose crinkling up. “I’m a bad person, anyway.”

“You’re not a bad person, Frank.”

“Well, I sure as hell ain’t a good one.”

 _Her hometown, four hundred pairs of eyes judging her…Wesley, seven shots in his chest…_ “Neither am I,” she said, quietly.

There was a long silence on the other end of the phone. “Don’t give me that bullshit.”

“It’s not bullshit, Frank, you don’t know—”

“Oh, I know you’ve done some shit you ain’t proud of, that you think you need to feel guilty for. Well, first, that’s everybody, and there’s plenty worse than you. Look at me, you think you’re even in my ballpark?”

“That’s not a challenging bar to pass.”

“Yeah, and you’re too damn hard on yourself. So cut the bullshit, and repeat after me: I am a good person.”

“I’m _not_.”

“You’re going to say it anyway, or this whole deal’s off.”

She suddenly felt tears start to well up in her eyes. She pulled her knees up to her chest. “I am a good person,” she whispered.

“Oh, I’m sorry, what was that? Bad reception, you’ll have to speak up.”

She gave a short laugh, the tears starting to spill out. “I am a good person.”

“That’s better. Now you keep taking care of Max, and I will see you in a few days, you got that?”

“Yeah. Thank you.” She sniffled and wiped her cheeks. Frank hung up, and she dropped the phone as she fought the urge to cry. God, why did he have to do that? Why did he have to care about her?

Max looked up and whimpered, and she apologized before hugging him and burying her damp face in his fur. “ _Thank you_.”


	6. Do you trust me?

Matt had called her the day after her editorial ran in the Bulletin and asked to meet her at a small café not far from Karen’s apartment. He was already there when she arrived, having tea and a bagel, but Karen turned down the offer of a menu; she didn’t have time to eat that morning.

Matt’s face was pained when she sat down with him. “I’m looking into it, too,” he told her, with no preface. She already knew what he was talking about.

“It’s not Frank.” The café was underpopulated at this hour, so she didn’t even bother keeping her voice down.

“I know. We have our disagreements, obviously, but he has his own set of limits, just like me. For him, it’s no bystanders.”

“I’m glad you’re on the case. I don’t want to think how Frank is going to try to deal with this when he gets word.”

“Well, it’s personal to me.” He paused. “I was the lawyer Ms. Young was talking to about her divorce case. It’s not my specialty, but she couldn’t afford anyone who was going to charge her regular rates.”

“Matt…that’s so good to hear. I mean, that you were using the law to fight for her. Please don’t stop. Her kids…her shitty husband’s going to try to get custody back.”

“I know. I’m going to do whatever I can. Your article helped.”

So something positive might come out of this after all. She knew she had to tell Foggy when she met him at Farrington that weekend. But first she had to figure out what to do with Max. Jessica was right, Farrington was an upscale place, with a no animal policy (exceptions made for Seeing Eye dogs and the like).  Fortunately there was a Citi Bike station on the sidewalk in front of the bar, and she’d asked Foggy to get a window seat for them that evening.

Foggy watched her tie Max to the bike rack, and was wide-eyed with astonishment when she came in. “Where did you get that monster?”

“He’s not a monster, he’s a pit bull. I’m dogsitting for a neighbor this week.”

“He must come in handy, for a single woman in the big city.”

“No kidding, I haven’t had a catcaller since I started walking him.” A waiter came by and took their drink orders. “Anyway, he can be short-tempered if anyone hurts him, so I want to keep an eye on him. Otherwise, though, he’s a sweetie. I’m going to miss him once I have to give him up.”

“Did you ever think about buying a dog for yourself?”

“I don’t know, I’m not sure I could afford it. I wish I could. I loved my dogs growing up.”

“They’re easier to take care of outside of the city. My family had this little terrier growing up, that was about all we could handle. What’s the big guy’s name?”

“Max.”

“Short for Maximillian? Maximus? Maxi Pads?”

Karen laughed. “I have no idea, ask the owner.”

“So, what’s new over at the old Bulletin?”

“Hmm, well, we are having an argument with Ellison over whether the paper will cover somebody going out to Punxsutawney. He’s insisting it’s a waste of money, we’ll only report on Staten Island Chuck.”

“Yeah, and plus, one of you might wind up stuck in a never ending time loop until they find personal redemption.”

“Oh yeah, always a huge risk.” Karen was grinning from ear-to-ear. God, she missed working with Foggy.

The waiter brought their drinks, and they both took a break to down about half their glasses.

“Anyway, more seriously, I’d kind of wondered if they were going to send you upstate this week. Have you heard about what happened?”

“No. Was it something bad?”

“Well, I guess it depends on your point of view. A guy got murdered late last year, a black guy, and the killers were linked to some white supremacist groups. The prosecutors were trying it as a hate crime, but lo and behold they wound up with a nearly all-white jury that ended up hung. Meanwhile the defendants all got out on bail.”

“Ugh, that is such bull.”

“Oh, it gets better. Over the last week, they’ve all been murdered.”

Karen had a sinking feeling in her stomach. “What?”

“The first was mangled pretty bad before he was killed, then the rest of them were sniped down. Sound familiar?”

“The Punisher,” she said softly.

“Yup. I mean, nobody can prove it, but somebody swore they saw him, and thus the rumors fly.” He took a sip. “You hadn’t heard about it?”

“No.” So _that’s_ what Frank had been up. Good for him.

“You aren’t appropriately horrified.”

“The law fails, the vigilantes step in.”

“Right, but it doesn’t fix the problems in the system.”

“It can draw attention to them. If you report on it the right way.”

“Which you do, I might add. I mean, I know the paper probably likes the clicks they get, but I want you know you really _do_ make it about the people more than him.” He smiled. “We’re both not selling out, yay us!”

“Not completely, anyway.” She raised her glass and clinked it with his in a toast. “So, um, speaking of the law and vigilantes, Matt’s apparently been doing some legal work on the side again.”

Foggy seemed surprised. “Really?”

“Yeah. I guess you can’t completely take the lawyer out of him after all.”

Foggy looked down at his glass, tapping the rim with a finger. “Good,” he finally said. “Good to hear.”

Karen felt uncomfortable with the heaviness of their conversation. She’d hoped Foggy would be more excited by the news. “So! How goes the quest to make partner?”

“Hogarth’s backing me, and I think Chao likes me, but Benowitz thinks I need more time at the firm before he’ll give me a vote.”

“Hey, that’s two-thirds of the way there, maybe! Marci’s not jealous of you? Or is she being the supportive girlfriend?”

“Well, you know, Marci and me, we’re not, um…”

“Foggy, you can only hook up with someone so many times before it starts to look like dating.”

“Friends with benefits is a thing!” he protested. “I dunno, I like her a lot, and I _think_ she likes me, but we’ve never really talked about it, and…” Foggy’s face twisted. “What if she says no?”

“You won’t know unless you ask her. Which is worse, getting shot down, or missing out on a chance with a hot girl whose company you obviously enjoy?”

“Ooh, that is a difficult question, Ms. Page.”

“I don’t know, I’m one of those people who tends to be haunted by ‘what ifs.’ I’d rather take a chance and blow it then to spend my life wondering whether I should have taken it. I mean…take Matt. Total disaster by the end, but if I hadn’t tried…” she shrugged.

“You wouldn’t have known it would be a disaster and would have tortured yourself forever with dreams about what might have been?”

“Exactly. Better to have loved and lost—”

“—than to not have asked _you_ out back when you first started working for us.” When she ducked her head bashfully, he gave her a friendly smile. “Oh come on, you _knew_.”

“I did. But you never asked so I never got to let you down easy.”

“I guess there’s your evidence that I prefer to just let things pass.”

“Don’t. You and Marci…do _not_ have the kind of relationship _I’d_ want, but it takes all kinds.”

“What _do_ you want? I need clues so I can find you someone, get you out of your dry spell.”

“I don’t know anymore, really. My life’s in such upheaval all the time, maybe I shouldn’t be with anybody right now.”

“Or maybe you need someone to help you get stable.”

“Maybe.” Karen swirled the ice in her drink. She legitimately had no idea whether dating was a good idea at the moment. Maybe she’d meet someone nice at Stantacki’s book group next week.

She walked Max home to her apartment. There was a loud row happening on the first floor, and her building manager was trying to get the gathered crowd to disband. Karen overheard something about cigarettes and accusations of marijuana and scuttled past as quickly as she could, with Max bounding up the stairs as he was used to.

Inside her apartment, she turned on the lights, fed Max, and was ready for a night of solitary reading when there was a rap on her window. She thought she’d imagined it at first, but it came again, a little louder this time. Karen dug into her drawer and got her .380, holding it down by her side as she carefully pulled open the curtains.

Most people would be terrified out of their minds to have the Punisher looking in at them through their window. Karen was merely surprised. “What are you doing here?”

He gestured that he couldn’t hear her, and Karen set down her gun to open the window. It had three sections, the middle of which was fixed, but the other two opened enough to crawl onto the fire escape outside. That was where Frank was standing, and when she opened it, he didn’t say anything, just slipped into the apartment.

Frank was in full Punisher costume, the first time she’d seen him like that in a while. She could also tell he was packing at least a few weapons under his coat. That bothered her less than the sullen expression on his face.

“What are you doing here?” she asked again.

“Picking up Max.”

“We could have met somewhere.”

“This is easier.”

“You’re going to carry him down the fire escape?”

Frank wasn’t listening to her. He had found where she’d stashed the duffle and was loading Max’s things into it. The dog was tagging along behind him, yipping with glee that his master had returned.

“So…I heard about what you were doing upstate. Nice work.”

Frank still didn’t answer her.

“Max was a lot of fun. Anytime you need me to watch him, just—”

“You forgetting something?”

Karen was confused. “What?”

“Something you maybe should’ve told me?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking—”

“The fuckhead who murdered four people and plastered my symbol all over his goddamn massacre!” Frank’s voice was getting louder, and Karen started to panic that someone might hear him.

“I know, I didn’t tell you about that,” she said quietly, holding up her hands to try to calm him down. “But the police were already on the case, they don’t think you’re responsible—”

“I don’t give a _shit_ if they think I did it, whoever that son of a bitch was, he killed innocent people, and he’s going to pay!” He wasn’t getting any quieter.

“Shut _up_ , Frank, everyone in my building will hear you and start calling the cops.”

He sucked in a breath and looked up at the ceiling, clearly trying to calm himself. “What is this, you still on your mission to prove I ain’t some psychopath? I told you, _I don’t care_.”

“I know, I know, but I _care_ , okay?” Karen could hear her own volume increasing and she gripped one of her dining chairs to control her temper. “I care if people think you’re nothing more than a deranged killer, so I want them to prove you didn’t do it, I-I-I don’t want whoever did this to be just another body on the list we have at the Bulletin.”

“Yeah, that’s my decision to make, not yours. I mean, shit, the cops haven’t even caught him yet, you _know_ I can get him faster.”

“If he dies without proof of his crime, people will think you murdered three dumbass teenagers and a defenseless woman, the whole city will turn against you, and _dammit_ , Frank, can you please worry about yourself for once?”

He stared her down. “You _lied_ to me.”

“I didn’t lie.”

“Covered it up, same difference.”

“Bullshit, Frank. As if you don’t hide plenty from me.”

“You’re the one who keeps blabbing on about the shield law.”

“That’s not what I meant, it’s not what you're doing now, it’s what you _did_ —” She clamped her mouth shut, because in that moment Frank’s face had gone from somewhat pissed off to furious.

“You mean Kandahar?”

“No, I-I-I didn’t say that.”

“Oh but I know. That why you’re making this little partnership with me? Hoping I’ll, what, open up to you and spill all my little secrets?”

“Fine, I want to know, and yes, I hope someday you’ll tell me—”

“Huh, I bet you do. It’s quite a story, there’s probably a goddamn Pulitzer in it for you!”

“You think I _care_ about an award?” Karen was shouting even louder than him now. She’d stopped caring if the neighbors heard, she was that upset. “I don’t do this for recognition, I do it because I think it helps! I _hate_ that everyone treats my articles like they’re just clickbait to keep our paper going instead of pieces that might make people _think_ or bring around _change._ You know why I want to know about Kandahar? Because if it involves people in power doing something wrong, then I want to expose them. I’m exactly like you, Frank, I _hate_ the assholes of the world and I want to see them punished, the only difference is our methods!”

In the silence after, she heard a whine, and saw that Max had retreated behind her couch. His head poked up and she could see an anxious look on his face.

The anger in Frank’s face, meanwhile, had slowly faded as she’d ranted at him, and now he was standing still, with an expression that seemed almost…amazed. Moved. Karen swallowed hard and lowered her voice. “And if it helps me understand better why you are the way you are, well, I want that too.”

Frank frowned and turned away from her. “Look,” and his voice was bitter but at least quieter, “all you need to know is, it wasn’t something I did. It was something I _didn’t_ do. Figured I could let somebody _else_ take care of it. I’m never making that mistake again. Can’t trust anyone else to do it.”

“Do you trust _me_?” she asked softly.

Frank turned back, expression uncertain but eyes fixed on her. She met his gaze and it felt as if her blood had frozen at the same time as her skin had begun to burn. A mounting tension built in the room. They were both still breathing heavily from the shouting match, and Karen suddenly felt extremely aware of his physical presence in a way that was both exciting and disturbing. He was within arm’s reach, she could smell the sweat from his long trip, could hear his breath, could—

“I let you take care of Max, didn’t I?” Frank cracked a grin, and at once the pressure in the room disappeared.

Karen smiled back, hand flying to her face to hide a blush. “I guess you did.”

“Just try to trust me back. I know I haven’t given you much reason yet, but…I promised I’d play by your rules, and I _will_ keep that promise.”

“But you’re going to go after the copycat.”

“I started this. My responsibility. The police get there first, all well and good. But them I don’t trust.” His jaw tensed. “Not like you.” He knelt down and whistled to Max. “Come here, boy.”

Max trotted out from where he’d been hiding behind the couch. “I think we scared him,” said Karen.

Frank petted his dog gently. “It’s okay, Max, we’re all done fighting.”

Karen couldn’t help but think that Max looked like a little kid worried that mom and dad were having an argument, something she and Kevin had often experienced growing up. But no, that would make her and Frank the parents and… Karen shook her head. She was overtired, her mind was fuzzy.

Frank stuck Max’s leash into the bag and hefted it over his shoulder. “Are you sure you don’t want to try slipping out the front?” Karen asked. “There was some big commotion going when I came in, they might not notice.”

“Dressed like this?” Frank smirked. “Yeah, I don’t think so.” He started for the window, then hesitated. “I…I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that shit. About the Pulitzer. I know you ain’t like that.” He reached out and placed a hand on her back. It started as a pat, but he let it rest there at the end, stroking her back briefly, fingers trailing off as he returned his arm to his side. “You’re only about half as pissed off at the world as I am, but that is plenty.”

“Right.” Karen’s voice was little more than a whisper as he coaxed Max out the window, then ducked out behind him. She heard him clamber down the escape, marveled that he was carrying Max one-armed down the ladder (Max was  _not_ a small dog) and slowly closed the window. Through the glass, she could see his van parked in the narrow alley below her apartment. He and Max were getting into it. They didn’t look up to see her watching.

Karen lay down on her bed, trying to process everything. The apartment was quieter without Max, definitely emptier. But that didn’t explain why her body felt so warm or her hands so shaky. It wasn’t Max she was thinking about right now.

She covered her face with her hands, trying to dig the feeling out of her mind. It was stupid, _stupid_ , she’d _seen_ what he did to people, knew how dangerous he could be. Yes, he’d protected her, rescued her, made sure she was safe even when using her as bait, but that didn’t make him a good person. He’d said as much himself.

But here she was, wanting him to touch her again. Every time he did, it was as if her body was craving it somehow, and she could still feel his hand on her back, reliving it over and over and what was _wrong_ with her? How long had this been going on? She remembered her reaction to his hand in the diner, but before that…the only time he’d ever touched her was when he’d saved her life from gunfire, and while she’d been shaken at the time, she’d assumed it was only from being shot at, not…not…

In a way, it was a simple question. A lot simpler than most of the ones she had surrounding Frank (was what he was doing right? what exactly _was_ this strange relationship they had?). It was straightforward, really: on a purely physical level, was she attracted to Frank Castle?

He certainly didn’t look like her type. She liked men of medium build, nice hair, faces that were quick to smile – Matt, more or less. He resembled a lot of her past boyfriends and hookups, maybe a little bit handsomer, but he was certainly her type. Frank, not so much. He was big, broad-shouldered, heavy-browed, with that practical crewcut you couldn’t run your fingers through. He wasn’t _un_ handsome by any means, at least when his face wasn’t fifty percent bruises, and the few moments he smiled…

There was his voice, too. She liked his voice. Talking with him on the phone had confirmed that for her, she liked the rumble of his baritone, the way the grit in it softened when he was talking to her. And the few times they’d been close together she liked the way he smelled.

But mostly it was the way he looked at her. His colonel, the Blacksmith, had said it was like he could see into your soul, and that was not inaccurate. It didn’t help that, at least in heels, they were the exact same height. Karen had tried seeking out partners as tall as her, but she’d often had to accept they’d be shorter than her, and she slouched to shield their egos. Frank, though, he was at perfect eye level, and when he stared at her it felt more intense and intimate than any kiss she’d ever had.

Of course, some of this was probably because she hadn’t had sex in a very long time. Things may have ended badly between them, but she still wished that Matt had accepted her offer to come up to her apartment. Then at least she’d have gotten something good out of their aborted train wreck of a relationship.

But no, instead here she was, thinking about Frank Castle, of all people, about how she liked his smile and his voice and his smell and the way he looked at her, and mother of Christ this was a _bad_ idea. She changed into her pajamas, trying to think of _anyone_ else. Ryan Gosling. That was a good one, he was really hot. She replayed scenes from his films in her head as she lay back down on her bed, until her mind drifted to the scene in _Drive_ where he stomped a man to death in an elevator and _dammit_ now she was thinking of Frank again.

Okay. She took a deep breath. She wasn’t going to go to sleep at this rate, not if she didn’t do something about it. So. Just as a one-time thing. Get it out of her system. It wouldn’t change anything in real life.

Still embarrassed with herself, Karen slipped her hand down her pants.

Three days later, while Karen was off in Staten Island getting a well-deserved break by reporting on a groundhog, a body was dumped at a local police station. Half his face was smashed in, with a broken jaw and one eye nearly gouged out. Both his legs had their kneecaps shot off. But more importantly, there were two pieces of paper pinned into his chest with a thin knife. One was a photograph of Sandra Young, the other a printout of Karen’s editorial on the incident with “not what Frank Castle would want” circled in red.

What was surprising to everyone was that, when the police went to move the body, it groaned. He was still alive, barely.

With his jaw wired shut, he hadn’t been able to talk to answer questions, but had eagerly written out a confession to the murders of the three young men, and was dismissive of Sandra’s death. “Some sacrifices must be made in the war on crime,” he wrote. He’d also sworn up and down that the Punisher had done this to him. It almost seemed to make him happy.

His name was Andrew Vann, and the confession was more than enough to get a warrant to search his apartment. In it, police found a veritable shrine to Frank Castle and the Punisher cases. There were dozens of guns in racks on the wall, and the ballistics on one matched the weapon that had killed the four people a week before, as well as an unsolved homicide from a week before that. He had a pile of printed-out skull cards, clearly planning to keep up his killing spree.

Open-and-shut. Frank Castle’s name was cleared.

Karen had been certain at first that Andrew was lying, that Matt was more likely responsible for bringing him in. She called him to ask as much, and his answer was, “I don’t use guns, Karen. And I wouldn’t stick a knife through his lung. You _know_ who did this.”

“But…why…”

“Why did he leave him alive? I have no idea. Ask him yourself.”

She didn’t have to. She knew. He’d said he didn’t care what people thought of him, that he didn’t want to clear his name. Andrew definitely met the requirements for Frank to bury him in the ground. Instead he’d turned him over, and he’d be delivered to prison where he’d be out of Frank’s reach. And she could only think of one reason Frank might have done that, especially when it was _her_ editorial he’d left pinned to the body.

Her one-time thing became regular after that.


	7. Would get drunk with again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess as of Friday this fic is now "ideas for how to stick Karen into a Punisher season (or to have her connect Punisher and Daredevil, either works)".

Stantacki’s book group had read _The Martian_. Karen had not, but fortunately the discussion centered heavily on the movie, which she’d gone to see with Foggy rather than Matt (apparently even supersenses don’t compensate for flat screens). Unfortunately it quickly turned into a debate over the casting of the characters of Vincent Kapoor and Kim Park, and Karen felt in over her head.

“I’m just saying, when I hear a character have _my_ last name,” said one young woman, who had been introduced to her as Lisa, “I expect him to be played by someone whose family comes from Punjab, not Nigeria.”

“In the film he says his father is Hindu—” another man began to argue.

“But he’s _not_ half-Hindu, and plenty of us Kapoors are Sikhs, too.”

Karen was keeping her mouth firmly shut, worried that anything she’d say would come across as patronizing or ignorant or possibly both. She noticed Stantacki, who was sitting next to her, was taking the much same tactic. “It’s a little intimidating,” she whispered to him.

“Sit back, listen, and you learn a lot,” he whispered back.

Which she did. His book group – which met at a cafe near the edge of the Kitchen – was full of very obviously well-educated people, and Karen realized from the few comments Stantacki _did_ make that he was much more intelligent than she’d thought. Also, everyone called him “Mark,” which was the first time she’d ever heard anyone use his first name.

“I don’t think it’s pandering,” he replied, speaking up for only the third time, in response to arguments about the involvement of China in the plot. “Maybe if it was added in just for the movie, but to me it speaks to the general theme of space exploration as an internationally unifying effort, as opposed to the nationalism of the space race. There’s a long history in science fiction of an optimistic idea of global cooperation.”

“Right,” said a young guy who Karen thought was named Dwight, who was sitting two seats over from her. “I mean, it’s integral to the plot, not something added in at the last minute for a blatant cash grab.”

“Oh God, like the most recent _Transformers_ movie?” This was an older woman whose name she couldn’t remember, and Karen was amused that someone her age had seen _any_ of the _Transformers_ films, much less the most recent one. “The product placement in that was hilarious on both sides of the Pacific.”

“But what _is_ pandering?” Lisa asked. “A lot of people will turn around and say any representation of any kind is pandering, that you’re shoving political correctness down their throats.”

“Well—” Karen said, and felt all the eyes in the group pin her down. She gulped and straightened the hem of her skirt. “I mean, speaking as someone white and watching the movie without reading the book, I was actually impressed by the casting? I mean, most movies, unless they absolutely _have_ to, characters are white, and in _The Martian_ everybody was just…anyone. I-I-I didn’t know there were changes from the book, and I guess they were kind of dumb changes, but it was eye-opening that the cast looked more like a street in New York City than most TV shows set in New York City.”

“Oh God, like _Friends_?” Dwight snorted. “And how did they keep that spot at the Central Perk cleared just for them? Do you know how hard we have to fight to keep this meetup place open?”

After the discussion finished, Karen still felt slightly overwhelmed, but at least she’d made one comment that hadn’t been completely stupid. Stantacki patted her on the back as she stood up. “Did you like it?”

“It was intellectually stimulating, that’s for sure.”

“Well, next month is _Blame_ by Michelle Huneven. I’ve read it before, so I can bring my copy to work.”

“Thanks.” Karen was tempted to back out – did she really need one more assignment in her life? – but it had been an animated discussion with half a dozen new people, without a single mention of murder, vigilantism, and “wow aren’t all your articles about…?” so she decided to stick with it.

On her way out, Dwight approached and tapped her on the shoulder. “Sorry, I didn’t catch your name earlier.”

“Karen Page,” she told him. “And you were…Dwight?”

“Dwayne, actually. Dwayne Sayer.” Karen cursed inwardly, trying to revise all her memories of him. “But hey, I didn’t even remember yours started with a ‘K,’ so that’s better than me, right?” He gave her a smile and scratched at his wavy blond locks.

“So. Is the book group always this exciting?”

“Oh yeah, lot of egos, lot of degrees. I’m a grad student at Columbia in sociology, by the way.”

“Columbia? I know some people who graduated from law school there.”

“What about you? Student? Graduate?”

“Reporter. Um, communications degree from a small college in Vermont you’ve never heard of, I am hopelessly outclassed by all of you.”

“Pfft, we need some more heads from outside of academia to keep us from getting stuck up our own asses.” His grin was disarming, but her guard went back up the moment he said, “Hey, do you want to shoot me a line on Facebook? I’d love to chat with you more.”

 _Oh crap, he was interested in her_. “Um…sure?” There was always the ‘acquaintance’ setting. If Foggy had been there, he’d have reminded her that she said she was the risk taker of the two of them, and Dwayne was certainly her type. Or what _had_ been her type, until last week.

Her life was busy, even without a dog and with silence from all her leads on the Fisk case. Along with the book group, she was still covering the fallout from Reynard’s resignation with Angela Manus. More and more allegations of corruption kept building up around him – not just taking bribes to let buildings and businesses get off without inspection, but also suspicious payments that were supposed to be official business but seemed to be a real estate purchase.

Angela had demanded dibs on that tidbit and gone out to Long Island to investigate for the day with Alonzo. Karen was left digging through phone records and following Angela’s quest via text messages.

> wish I made the kind of $$ these people do

Karen grinned and answered,

> no kidding

She was interrupted by more than a buzz on her phone, an actual ringtone of Joan Jett’s “Bad Reputation”. She couldn’t remember who she’d assigned it to until she looked at the screen and read “Alias.”

“Hi, Jessica Jones? Do you have any news?”

“Yeah, plenty. You want to meet at that Juicy place you mentioned?”

“Josie’s? Sure. Um, when? I’m kind of at work right now.”

“Hey, it’s your case, I’ve got my hands full with like ten other things constantly ever since I got famous, just name a time and I’ll be there. You’re covering my tab, though.”

They met a little after 7, and Karen grabbed Indian takeout on her way over. “I hope you don’t mind, I didn’t have a chance to eat, and I _did_ bring enough to share…”

Jessica sniffed the container she’d set down on their back-corner table and declared, “It’s food,” before digging in.

Karen caught Josie’s eye at the front, and the surly bartender looked surprised to see her back. “Do you want me to go order us some drinks?” She noticed Jessica already had a beer, though she hadn’t drunk much of it.

“Later. Right now I need to be sober to give you the details.” She pulled a file out of her bag and dumped it between trays of chicken tandoori. “The guy you had me tail, Steve Olmos? He has no life outside of work, and that comes from someone who only _barely_ has one herself, so you know I mean it. He leaves that minimum security prison, drives to a tiny house on Staten Island, and doesn’t leave. Like, he went grocery shopping and took out the trash, but that was _it_. No girlfriend, no buddies at the bar, just him, at home, drapes drawn.”

“Really? Is he hiding something inside?”

“No idea, they’re those light-blocking kind. I can tell when he has the lights turned on from the edges, but no silhouettes and definitely no photos for you, sorry.”

Karen felt an uneasiness in her stomach. “He’s scared.”

“Of what? I mean I’m going to see if I can check his phone and internet usage, maybe he’s got some massive porn addiction or something…”

“No, I mean…the curtains. They don’t just block light, they mean no one can look in. No one can take a shot at him.”

“What makes you so certain?”

“Because I have the same kind installed in my apartment.”

“Uh huh. You get shot at often?”

“Since running afoul Wilson Fisk? I’ve had more attempts on my life than I care to think about.”

“So this is personal? You’re trying to get the guy out of your life, not just prove a case?”

“It’s both, but…yes.”

“Hey, you’re right, we _do_ have more in common than I thought. Shitty men, ruining our lives.”

“Well, to be completely honest my life was already more than a bit ruined before Union Allied and Wilson Fisk. All he did was destroy my attempts to rebuild it.”

“Okay, if this is moving off business, I am going to go get us more drinks.” Jessica rose form her seat. “You _are_ paying for this, right?”

“Absolutely.”

“Good, because I already told Josie.”

While she was gone, Karen got another buzz on her phone.

> worse than a mistress, cant give deets over phone

She smiled. Work tomorrow would at least be fun.

“Okay!” Jessica slammed two draft pints down on the table. “Last order of business before we try to be friends or some shit – what else do you want me to do with him?”

“Can you figure out if his behavior is new? I mean, was he always paranoid, or did the curtains get installed a month ago? A-after he left his old job.”

“I can do that. It may cost you a little extra on the final bill.”

“I’ll cover it, I promise.”

“As long as we’re all clear.” She took a long gulp, gasped, wiped her mouth, and then settled into her chair, scrutinizing Karen. “Okay, get all the dumb obvious questions out of the way.”

“Dumb and obvious?”

“How did you get your powers? How strong are you? Ermahgerd what’s it like being a superhero?” The singsong voice she was using let Karen know how sick Jessica was of this line of inquiry. Better to rise above it.

“Actually, I was going to ask who your ‘one friend’ is.”

“Trish Walker.”

“From _Trish Talk_? I listen to her sometimes.”

“Yeah, we grew up together. It’s like a half-sisters/half-friends thing. If we were both gay it would make my life so much easier.”

Karen snorted into her drink.

“I’m serious. You know how much of a pain in the ass men can be.”

“I dunno, I was one of those girls who always had a lot of guy friends growing up. I think it came with having a brother not much younger than me. Which I guess is its own pain in the ass, because as you get older it’s harder to stay friends with guys, too many of them treat it like settling.”

“So,” Jessica clucked her tongue. “Guess I should ask about the brother thing. What does he do? Is he here in the city?”

Karen stopped smiling. She’d been able to lie to Matt about him because he hadn’t asked what Kevin did or where he was, only what he was like. Nothing false there. Jessica might not have supersensory lie detecting abilities, but she was also a PI and seemed to be able to smell bullshit. “He’s dead.”

Jessica didn’t say anything.

“Car crash. Swerved to avoid a drunk driver who veered into his lane.”

“That sucks.” It wasn’t much, but it seemed heartfelt.

“Yeah. Yeah, it does. And I don’t especially want to talk about it.”

“Makes sense.” Jessica finished her pint. “You seriously have no superpower questions?”

“Um, I guess…do you know anybody else like you? I hear rumors around town about people. Even some speculation about the Devil here in Hell’s Kitchen.”

“I thought he was just some dipshit with kung fu lessons and a red leather fetish.”

Karen resisted the urge to giggle at that description of Matt. “Maybe, but I dunno, super reflexes or something? Is that even a thing?”

“I don’t know anymore. I mean, shit, I don’t know where _my_ powers came from, much less…other people. I’ve never run into the Daredevil, either, so I can’t give you clues to his super-secret identity.” She rolled her eyes. “That sounds so ridiculous, who even bothers with those? You might as well advertise, make a living off of it.”

Karen shrugged. “I don’t know. I think about it sometimes, that it might be nice to have some kind of superpower. Something special I could do.”

“Oh don’t, it _sucks_. There’s a reason we’re all solo acts, every one of us has like this huge baggage that we’re carrying around and when we get together we swing them around and hit each other or something and everybody winds up hurt. Even Stark and his gang, every time they team up a city gets destroyed somewhere.” She stood again, a little less steady this time. “You want refills?”

“Sure,” Karen said, trying to judge how close Jessica was to the point that Malcolm had asked her to stop her.

A few minutes later with two beers in her hands, Jessica returned. “Okay, here’s what _I_ wonder: if you had a superpower, what would you even want it to be? Strength? Speed? Flight?”

“Can you fly? Someone online said you could.”

“I can jump really, _really_ far.”

“So…falling with style?”

Jessica snickered at that, and Karen counted it a victory. “But seriously, what would you even want? Come up with a good one.”

Karen thought for a moment, nibbling her lip and turning her glass. “I think…I would want the power to make people forget things.”

Jessica was studying her again. “As in, making Wilson Fisk forget you were involved in his arrest?”

“That, and…I feel like…I mean, it would be a way to erase the past, you know? All I really want is to have a completely fresh start, a do-over. Time travel would be too much of a mess, so…simply get rid the memories.”

The PI took a long breath, deep in thought. “Yeah, but, at the end of the day, that’s basically another way of lying. _You_ know the truth, and you can’t hide it from people forever without feeling like a piece of shit.”

“It’s better than people knowing about the mistakes you’ve made, the kind of person you’ve been.”

“No, it’s _not_. Take it from someone who’s been there. The longer you wait, knowing it when everyone around you doesn’t, the more it festers and the worse it gets.” Jessica’s eyes had a look of loss that Karen couldn’t understand, but she assumed it had something to do with Kilgrave.

“Well…it would be better than having to move all the time,” she said quietly.

Jessica looked up at Karen, her sad face slowly transforming into puzzlement.

“I grew up in Vermont. In a small town. And I did something…it was really bad. I…I was young, and angry, a-a-and...”

“He had it coming?” Jessica had raised an eyebrow.

Karen nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, he _did_. Which still doesn’t mean it was the right thing to do.” She took a long drink. “Anyway, my family disowned me. The last thing my mother ever said to me was that I was going to burn in hell, so, yeah. Then I get away to New York, and I start making friends, I get a job at Union Allied and poof it all goes, again. I feel like I’m going to be rebuilding my life for the rest of my life.”

“You _are_ ,” Jessica told her. “Because that’s life. It’s getting torn down and beaten up and learning to get up and go on and start over and have _one_ more day just to spite the world for all the shit it throws at you. Some people get worse shit than others, but everyone’s dealing with something, even the bad guys, they just don’t handle it as well.”

“Plus it’s easier to deal with when you have friends,” Karen added, and that made Jessica look uncomfortable.

“I don’t make friends. Probably because I’m not a very good one.”

“Tell me about it. Literally everyone I know, I know through work. Except for Dwayne.”

“Dwayne?”

“I started a book group yesterday, he friended me on Facebook.”

“Ugh, that is _so_ tacky. Ask for a number, moron.”

“I don’t mind, I honestly don’t need any more numbers on my phone.”

It buzzed again, as if it knew they were talking about it.

> can you come in this evening?

“Oh, it’s Angela, from work.” She began texting. “Let me tell her I’ve been drinking and I’ll have to come in early tomorrow.”

“You consider _this_ drinking?” Jessica was aghast. She jumped out of her chair. “Christ. I’m going to get more refills.”

“Uh…Malcolm asked me to cut you off, and you’re looking wobbly.”

“He’s not my mom or my boss or my AA sponsor so he can deal.” She swept off to the bar and came back with one drink a minute later, for herself. “See?” she insisted. “I am still totally functional.”

“Hey, if I wanted to, I bet I could drink you under the table, but I have to get to work tomorrow at the first job I think I’ve ever been good at.”

“Well, you are getting a decent review from me. ‘Three out of five stars, does not pry into superpowers or tragic backstories and is sometimes funny. Would get drunk with again.’” Jessica sucked her latest beer dry as Karen laughed. “Though I figure that’s something else we have in common.”

“What?”

“Questions we are so sick of answering everyone when we first meet them. I mean I’m guessing you get a lot of them about the Punisher because of your job.”

“Oh God, you have no idea, I feel like I’m on a loop. Maybe I should record a speech and play it any time someone asks my opinion of him.”

“Or you could tell anyone who asks to fuck off. It works.”

“Would you have worked for me if I’d just told you to fuck off?”

“…Actually, I might’ve. I’d respect that. But,” she hiccupped, her eyes getting big and her mouth drooping toward her chin almost cartoonishly, “it would help if you didn’t call him ‘Frank’ all the time like some buddy you hang out and have coffee with.”

Karen gave Jessica an embarrassed look. “I actually _have_ had coffee with Frank Castle. While he was on the run. He really, _really_ likes coffee. I swear he must sleep only 4 hours a day or something.”

“Ah, so the inverse of me. I probably should drink more coffee, but I’ve never liked the taste, and, you know, I prefer this.” She started rolling the beer bottle on the table in a circle along its bottom. “I prefer coming down to being wound up.” Jessica frowned hard, brows knitting together. “You know, maybe Malcolm’s right. Want to help me get a cab?”

She wasn’t particularly drunk, so Karen didn’t have to assist Jessica with walking or anything. Instead she just waited for the cab with her on the curbside, an awkward silence filling the gap between them.

“I had a good evening,” Karen finally ventured. “You don’t make as bad a friend as you think.”

“Heh, you haven’t known me that long.”

“You don’t press me on my secrets too much either. And you are definitely funny. So four out of five stars, would get drunk with on a day I didn’t have to go to work.”

That only made Jessica frown some more. Her cab arrived, and she started to get inside without a word. At the last second, she turned to give Karen a look and mumble, “Thanks.”

As the cab rolled away, Karen had a buzz on her phone as Angela confirmed that she’d meet with her the next morning. She noticed on her Facebook app that Dwayne’s friend request was still in her notifications. Hesitating for a moment, she decided to accept it. She didn’t even stick him with acquaintances. It wasn’t like she used Facebook that much anyway, especially with the sensitivity of her work. Karen scrolled through his public information, including photos of last year’s spring break trip to Cancun. He was fairly handsome, had what she thought of as a soccer player build. If Dwayne did ask her out, she might even say yes.

He probably wouldn’t be who she was thinking of that night, though.

As Karen unlocked her apartment, Gertrude from two doors down poked her head out. She, along with Stanley, were the two worst snoops in her building, both retired and living on meager pensions without much to do other than gossip about their neighbors. “How are you doing tonight, dear?”

“Out with a friend,” Karen said, hoping that stepping over her threshold would make the elderly woman back off.

“Oh that’s good, I’m glad you have lots of support. Well, good night!”

“Good night!” Karen replied through slightly gritted teeth. Gertrude had actually knocked on her door to ask about her fight with Frank the other night. She had assumed he was her boyfriend, and in spite of Karen insisting, truthfully, that it was work related, the retiree had been giving her all sorts of advice about how to recognize and get out of an abusive relationship.

Karen was trying to be polite, but she wanted to snap that she _knew_ what an abusive relationship looked like, she’d live in a house with one for twenty years. Her and Frank? Not so much. Volatile? Definitely. Not particularly healthy? Looking back, Karen wasn’t sure any of her relationships ever had been. But it wasn’t abusive.

Most importantly to her right now, it wasn’t mutual. Frank had never given any indication that he wanted or would even be okay with the kind of thoughts she had about him. He’d probably be insulted by it. That was why she felt guilty about it. At least, she assumed so; she’d left her father’s lectures about “if thy right hand offend thee, cut it off” long ago. This was a better kind of guilt, the kind based on a fear that you were hurting someone else, not on a selfish concern for your supposed immortal soul.

But it _did_ help her get to sleep, and at least it wasn’t going to kill her liver like her previous habit.

Still, Karen resisted the urge to call him with an update from Jessica, because she knew it would partly be motivated by a desire to hear his voice again. But at the same time, after his fairly dramatic show of trust in her, she had to keep him in the loop from now on.

So she texted,

>an update from the pi today, we have a good lead, but still looking

She’d brushed her teeth by the time his reply came back

>good. keep it up.

The next day at work was not actually fun the way she’d expected. When Angela had written that it was “worse than a mistress,” Karen had imagined a bachelor pad full of swinging hot babes, a veritable bungabunga party on Long Island.

“He has _children_?” Karen gaped at the photos Alonzo had taken with Angela, and she felt her heart twist. They were both adorable, only about five years old, twins, walking with their mom in the yard of a big house that Reynard had purchased with his embezzled funds.

“With a mistress of at least seven years. This is practically a second marriage, right under our noses.” She rubbed both hands in her short, tightly-curled hair as she leaned back in her chair. “I even got to talk to one of them. Sweet little boy.”

“And we’re about to drag them into the spotlight.”

“Uh huh.”

“Dammit.” Karen had known that Reynard’s relationship with his wife had been a merely political marriage for the last decade, ever since their children had grown. The idea that he had an entire second family, however, had never even crossed her mind.

Alonzo was sitting on Angela’s desk, leafing through his photos. “Kind of makes you think the Saudis have the right idea of just letting these guys have their second wives.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Angela retorted back. “It just makes you hate every politician who doesn’t have the balls to admit their marriage is over and give up the pretense. And hell, you know half the reason he covered this up is they’re Hispanic. Reynard had always locked up the racist vote.”

“Do we have to publish this? I know it highlights his hypocrisy but…” Karen rubbed her arms, even though it wasn’t cold in the Bulletin building. “Those kids are going to be harassed for something that absolutely is  _not_ their fault!”

“Welcome to the unpleasant part of journalism,” Angela said with a sigh.

“But…okay, look, we have him on everything else, can’t we let this pass? For their sakes?”

“She has a point,” Alonzo agreed. “I mean, we can talk about the embezzling, and the mansion, but I don’t want to splash these photos on the front page.”

“If we reveal the money and house, some other paper will just uncover exactly what we did and break the story. You don’t think the New York Post or the Daily Bugle wouldn’t _love_ a piece of this?” She shook her head at the thought. “No, better to let me do this tastefully, I’ve handled scandals before. I’ll start by approaching him for comment, let him know we know. If he’s got a decent bone left in that corrupt body of his, he’ll act to protect them as quickly as possible.”

Alonzo scoffed. “Yeah, that’s a big if.” He lifted the photo of Reynard’s children. “Let’s not run pictures of them, though. I mean, I took them, I get to have a say in that, right?”

Angela sat pensively for a moment, then nodded. “Right. But I want to take them with me to show _him_. Let him know we’re damn serious.”

Karen was a little bit dazed by the entire episode. She felt dirty that they were all about to be complicit in ruining three peoples’ lives, two of them children. Children, about to be shamed; even if their names never wound up in the paper, everyone would know who they were. She’d seen it happen, up close and personal. It hurt even when you felt you deserved it, it would be brutal to them when they obviously didn’t.

 _I’m a good person_ , she mentally repeated. Karen wanted to believe that. But sometimes it was hard to see whatever it was Frank saw in her.


	8. What do you think of me now?

If Karen had wondered whether Frank sparing Andrew Vann’s life had been a specific statement to her, or the beginning of a trend away from killing criminals, any doubts would have disappeared when the next set of bodies showed up.

Frank had told her he’d get back to the cartels if they ever crossed his path again, and three of their members were left on the docks, pinned down and spread-eagled postmortem, each with multiple gunshot wounds. There were witnesses, too; seven drug mules, one of them nearly dead from an overdose after his bag was punctured, and someone had called an ambulance for them. It was the EMTs who found the corpses of the men who’d been using them and they quickly put two and two together about who was responsible.

“What is the point of displaying bodies like that?” Foggy was reading her article in the paper as they strolled down the sidewalk. He’d been in her neighborhood on a pro bono case, and had invited her out for a walk and street vendor food. “If he thinks it’s going to deter criminals, he doesn’t understand their psychology. All it’s going to do is encourage them to hide their crimes a little better.”

Karen pondered that as she munched on her hotdog. “I don’t think Frank truly cares about lowering crime rates in the city. I mean, sure, he justifies it to himself that every person he kills is one less potential murder or rape or drug overdose, but at the end of the day he’s just traumatized and angry and taking it out on people who hurt others.”

“Which, if we’re being honest, pretty much describes Matt, too. Only he’s got his Catholicism keeping him from going the extra step.”

Karen watched her friend as he folded up the paper under his arm. She still couldn’t quite gauge how Foggy would react when their former friend came up in conversation. His breakup with Matt had undoubtedly hurt a lot more than hers had. “It’s funny,” she said, “growing up the way I did, I’ve always thought of religion as something that brings out the worst in people. It’s weird to find someone where it actually does them some good.”

“Yeah, you and Matt are two extremes I can’t entirely understand. You got abused by religion, for Matt it’s all that helps him. Me?” Foggy shrugged. “I was raised by casual Methodists who liked the ceremony and the moral lessons. You know, being good to people, caring about the disadvantaged, that’s all worthwhile having around. Which I guess is why we still go on Easter and Christmas.”

“Yeah, those were not the lessons I ever learned at church. And I’m not so sure you need all the other baggage that goes with it to have them.”

“Well, Matt does, for whatever reason. So I’m not going to discourage him from it.”

Karen hesitated again, but decided it was worth the risk. “Have you had any contact with him since…everything?”

“No. No, if he wants back in my life, he makes the first move at this point. He reached out to you, he…he needs to reach out to me.” After a pause, he added, “But if you want to, you can remind him my door’s always open.”

She smiled a little, memories of the three of them resurfacing in her mind. Life had been happy, whenever they were together as a group. Nelson, Murdock, and Page, her little oasis of friendship in the chaos of Hell’s Kitchen. Going back and forth between the two of them wasn’t much of a substitute.

“So, um, have the two of you…?” Foggy looked embarrassed.

“What?”

“Well, I know you see him every once in a while, and you two were a couple for a time there, is…is it headed back in that direction?”

Karen was startled. She realized she’d never given it any thought. “Matt…I don’t know, we’re starting over from ground zero, so it’s too early to tell. I doubt it will.”

“You were pretty crazy about him. I mean, I swear you had a crush on the Man in Black from the beginning.”

“Yeah, but I had no idea he was Matt and if I had…I don’t know.” The whole conversation was making her feel uncomfortable. “I think Matt and I both loved the idea of our relationship, loved what we _thought_ the other person was, but…we never really knew each other. So…”

“Ground zero?”

“Exactly.” She felt a rush of relief at Foggy’s understanding expression.

“And you know what? If it never works out between you two, friendship is good! We could all use a little more of that.”

“Well, speaking of things working out, have you and Marci—” but before she could pry into his love life, her phone buzzed.

“Oh thank you, text message gods…” she heard Foggy mutter as she read,

> can we meet?

It was from Frank. Her face must have gone a little pale, because Foggy seemed concerned when she looked back up.

“Is something wrong?”

“No, just a source on one of my investigations. I wasn’t expecting to hear from him.”

“Anything I can help with?”

“Oh, um, no it’s a _much_ better idea for you _not_ to get involved in this, he’s kind shady.” That was an understatement, Karen told herself, not strictly a lie.

“Ha, you should see some of the people who come in to H, C, & B, shady doesn’t even cover it. But!” He held up a hand, “I’m not going to pry! Reporter-source isn’t as hard and fast as lawyer-client, but I respect it. Go!” He waved her away. “Save the city, gumshoe!”

Karen laughed, gave a quick hug goodbye and called Frank. “Why do you want to meet?” she asked as soon as he picked up.

“I need some help.”

“Dogsitting again?”

“Nah, nothing that big. When are you free?”

“Well, you should know I’m a little busy right now. I always am after you decide to make a scene.”

He chuckled a little on the other end, and _ugh_ that sound was both agonizing and fantastic to hear. “How about tonight?”

“Are you going to knock on my window again?”

“I was thinking my van, behind your apartment.”

“It’s too visible from windows, and I’ve got neighbors who are now paying way too much attention to me thanks to our argument.” She thought hard. “Why don’t you…why don’t you park across from the Yellow Brick Wall? The staff knows me, they keep your secrets. I can meet you there, I don’t know, 8ish?”

“That’ll work. See you then.”

“Okay—” she started to say, but he’d already hung up. Damn it. Well, hopefully whatever he wanted help with wouldn’t be illegal.

There was something wrong about approaching an unmarked van in an alley and getting into it willingly. Wasn’t this exactly what every stranger-danger lesson she’d received as a child was supposed to discourage her against? But the sight of Frank’s van, and the few bullet dents that hadn’t quite been eliminated from its siding, made her feel oddly at ease.

When the door opened to her knock, the occupant of the van eliminated much of that feeling. He was meeting her dressed as the Punisher, and there was a heavy purple bruise across his right cheek. Frank was staying as out of sight behind the door as he could, and helped her up inside with a firm pull of her arm before slamming the van closed behind them.

Karen looked around the interior, stooping down to keep from bumping her head. It wasn’t as bare as it had been before, but only because Frank had a large case filled with guns in a corner. No Max. Just the two of them. Alone. In a small, enclosed space. With him having grabbed her arm only a second ago…

Christ, she’d been fantasizing about having sex with him for how long now? But when faced with the actual presence of Frank Castle, dressed in black, injured, scowling, it was hitting her that she wasn’t absolutely sure she wanted to ever move beyond fantasies. There was still something about him that scared her, not because she believed he’d hurt her, far from it, but his entire life, his entire attitude. He _wanted_ people to be afraid of him, he projected it, and it worked.

“No Max today?”

“He’s under the weather.”

“ _You_ look like shit, too.”

“Because I had to take out some pieces of shit last night.” He crouched down and jabbed at his cheek. “Some of it must’ve rubbed off.”

Karen almost laughed, but she’d also seen the crime scene, which hadn’t been funny. She followed his lead and sat down carefully on the floor of the van, knees folded up to her chin. “You weren’t the one who called the ambulance. They checked the 911 tape. But it wasn’t one of the mules either.”

“Trying to figure out my accomplices?”

“It was a man. Nobody could match the voice, it seemed to be altered.”

“He’s good with machines,” Frank said ambiguously. “Here.” He held out a sheet of paper. Karen took it from his hand, carefully avoiding touching him, and read it over.

It was a list of three locations, all of them addresses on the west side. “What do you want me to do with these?”

“Scout ’em out. Supposed to be abandoned, but I don’t want any homeless showing up that nobody knows about.”

“Frank, I can’t help you with anything illegal, okay? If these are sites you’re going to use for sniping or for leading gangs into a trap, I can’t be involved.”

“Right, and I don’t want you to. I want you to pass ’em on to Red. You still see him, right?”

“You want Matt’s help?” Karen scoffed. “He won’t, he’ll just try to stop you.”

“Yeah, but first, Altar Boy’ll clear out the sites ’cause he knows I might be there. And then he’ll have three of them to cover, so…” Frank grinned, and she realized it wasn’t a bad plan.

“I guess I’ll have to pretend that I have no idea what these locations are for…”

“You don’t,” he reminded her. “Hell, maybe I’m just scouting a place for my birthday party.” He coughed, and held his side with a grimace.

“Fractured rib?”

“Probably.”

“Maybe you should see a doctor.”

“And then a nice comfy jail cell right after?”

“Matt has a nurse who helps him when he’s badly injured.”

“I doubt most folks’d put me and Red in the same category when it comes to helping.”

She exhaled and tucked the paper in her pocket. “All right, I’ll call Matt. I haven’t seen him in a while anyway, it might be nice to check up.” She saw Frank watching her closely. “As friends.”

“You keep telling yourself that, ma’am.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Means you’ve still got feelings for him.”

“I don’t know if he still has those feelings for me. There was…someone else.”

Frank paused. “That woman on the roof? The one who died?”

“That was probably Elektra, yes. If you bring her name up, he…he’s still in mourning.” _Like you_ , she thought to herself, but better not to say anything like that. “You really do look awful, Frank. Like you need to lay off the coffee and get about a week of sleep.”

Frank didn’t say anything, but he did sit down, stretching his legs out so that they spanned the length of the van, his feet resting about a foot to her right. Karen watched him take a deep breath, lean his head back against the wall and close his eyes. “Sleep ain’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

“Bad dreams?” _Wilson Fisk, at his trial, standing up and pointing to her and a thousand hands pulling her down…_

Frank stayed quiet.

“About your family?”

“Sometimes.” She could barely hear him.

“That’s normal. I mean, you went through trauma, bad dreams are part of—”

His eyes popped open. “Don’t you _dare_ say PTSD.”

“I know, I know, PTSD didn’t _make_ you do everything you did, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t suffering from some of the symptoms, okay? Flashbacks t-t-to your point of trauma a-a-are totally normal. Reliving it, that kind of thing happens to lots of people. There’s nothing wrong with admitting you’ve got problems and might need help.”

Frank was quiet for a while, eyes aimed at the wall across from him rather than at her. After half a minute, Karen started to wonder if maybe he was trying to hint that she should leave, maybe he was trying to not lose his temper, but then, “Those aren’t the worst ones.”

“Which aren’t?”

“The ones where I relive it. I mean…” His fingers twitched. “That happened. That’s all the time, you know? In the background. It’s my life. The dreams where they’re alive are worse.”

Karen frowned, considered speaking, but chose to wait him out again.

“I go back and I see them, but I’m me. Dressed like this, looking like this, I’ve done all I’ve done and…” He gritted his teeth for a moment, and continued. “And they look at me like a monster out of their bedtime books. ’Cause I am. They scream and they run, and I try to follow but they keep getting further and further away, and…”

“You’re not a m—” Karen wanted to assure him.

“Maybe not to you, but my kids? I’m the goddamn bogeyman of the city, you know it, I know it. And Maria…she wouldn’t ever be with me the way I am now. I mean, a murderer who’s taken out, what, a hundred people—”

“A hundred and eleven.”

“I don’t even keep track, how fucked up is that? If she was alive, she wouldn’t want me. She’d keep my kids the hell away from me.” Frank took a deep breath. “No, the man I was, he died with her, and that’s how it should be. What I am now, I wouldn’t deserve her. I know that.” He finally looked back to Karen. “That’s why I torched the place. No going back.”

That surprised her. She and everyone else had always assumed that the arson of his house was some symbolic retaliation from the gangs he’d gone after. The case had been a complete dead end. But knowing he’d done it himself, “I get that.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I know what that feels like. Knowing you can never go back.” His eyes were locked on her now, and she could feel her heartbeat racing. But sharing some of her history with Jessica the other night had given her a measure of unexpected confidence. And right now she felt that Frank needed someone to reach out to him.

She took a long breath before she began. “I had a brother, named Kevin. He was only 16 years old when he died. He died because a man was driving drunk on the road, and my brother made a simple mistake trying to avoid an accident, and it got him killed. The other guy didn’t even stop to check what had happened to Kevin. He crashed later on, and if he hadn’t, they’d have never known he was even connected to it. But he was some bigwig tourist from out of state, with a fancy lawyer, and they got all the evidence thrown out and smeared _my brother_ as some reckless teen who killed himself by being a bad driver. He didn’t even get a trial, he _walked_ , and he didn’t care, he looked _smug_ about it. So I…I got my dad’s gun.” She twisted her hands together and dropped her eyes to her knees. “They’re pretty common up in Vermont and he never locked it up. I took it. I found him…celebrating. In _my_ town, where he killed _my_ brother. And I shot him. I shot him dead.”

Karen raised her eyes and saw that Frank’s expression hadn’t changed in the slightest. It would have been easier, maybe, if it had.

“I was a few months shy of eighteen,” she went on, “and with the ‘special circumstances,’ I got a light sentence. A year in juvie, some parole, mandatory counseling, not that it did much good. My name was kept out of it because I was a minor, but you know, a town of four hundred people,” she shrugged, “everyone knew. Everyone saw me as nothing more than a murderer. My own parents hated me because I didn’t _repent_ enough for their liking, because I started drinking, God forbid, because I was a sinner on the road to damnation. The _moment_ I was off parole, I left. Just, packed everything, hit the road. Got a degree in communications at some tiny college, went into massive debt that I am still paying off, then came here, because, you know, eight million people, that’s a good place to hide. To…escape. And never go back.”

Frank didn’t give her the reaction she’d hoped for. “ _That’s_ your big secret? What’s eating you up all the time?”

His tone was so dismissive that Karen forgot all the pain that the recounting had dredged up. She felt her fists clench in anger, and she said, softly, “No. It’s not. It’s that he’s not the only person I’ve ever killed.”

His face went slack, eyes widening slightly. Well good. She’d managed to surprise him.

“It was Wesley. Wilson Fisk’s right hand man.” There was a steadiness in her voice that Karen found unsettling even in herself. “He found out that Ben and I had been digging into Fisk’s background, that we’d found his mother, found out he’d murdered his own father because he was an abusive asshole. Not that I didn’t think about doing the same thing a hundred times growing up, but he actually did it, and they cut up his body, and he got away with it. Wesley found me, drugged me, kidnapped me, threatened to kill me, and was stupid enough to leave his gun on the table. Funny thing is, those of us with drinking habits? We don’t drug so well. I got the gun, and I shot him. And I left the body, wiped the prints, and dumped the gun, and nobody ever knew.”

Karen kept waiting for his response, but Frank hadn’t budged, had barely blinked.

“But it didn’t help.” Her voice caught in her throat, poise lost. She wrapped her arms around her legs, hugging them closer to her. “Because Fisk found out about Ben anyway, somehow, and he had him killed. Or maybe he killed him himself, I don’t know, he seemed really protective about that secret. And I have nightmares all the time about what will happen if he knows what I did, about how it’s _my_ fault that a good man died, that…I shouldn’t have done it. What was the _point_?” It came out as a gasp as she held back shuddering tears.

“See,” Frank said as soon as she’d pulled herself together, “the funny thing is, I ain’t hearing you say you regret killing Wesley.”

“…What?”

“I hear you saying you wish you’d capped Fisk, too.” His eyes were sharp, digging into her. “You don’t feel guilty. You’re scared.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but realized…he was right. She _didn’t_ feel guilty about killing Wesley. It had been him or her, she had been trying to protect Ben, he wasn’t a good person…she was scared. Scared of being discovered. Scared of what she might be turning into. _Am I turning into_ you _, Frank?_

“…you’re right. You’re absolutely right.” Her voice was a whisper. “So. What do you think of me now? Am I still a good person?”

The interval before he answered felt as if it lasted an eternity. She couldn’t decipher the look in his eyes or the way his jaw was tensing. It seemed like an internal struggle. Was he angry with her? Disappointed?

“You’re exactly what I always thought you were,” he said at last.

“But I killed—”

“Two assholes who had it coming. Shit, I knew you’d probably killed somebody, no other way you’d support someone like me that easily. Didn’t know it was _two_ , but…so what? I’m at 111 and I ain’t stopping any time soon. But you,” and here he pointed a finger at her. “You fight it. Your darkness, your anger. You keep your head above the water. Not like me. And _that’s_ what makes you a good person.”

Karen wished she could leave the van right then. Transport herself out, back to her apartment, because in the instant he said that, the way he was looking at her, the tone in his voice, she wanted to move beyond fantasy, wanted to crawl into his lap and kiss him, bruised cheek and all, but no, he’d just poured his heart out to her about everything with his wife, there was no way she could possibly…she turned her head away from him, hoping the warmth that had rushed to her face hadn’t shown up as too much color. “I’m glad one of us feels that way,” was all she managed.

“Well, I’ll keep telling you ’til you believe me. ’Til you realize why it is I keep telling you to stay away. I ain’t dragging you down to hell with me.”

She gave him a skeptical look. “You still believe in hell?”

Frank shook his head. “I don’t know shit about anything anymore. I hope there’s something beyond this mess, for my family’s sake but…wherever they are, it sure ain’t where I’m headed.”

She had a thousand thoughts about how to answer that, but they were all tied up with her own childhood fears, and she had no idea if any of it would be relevant to him.

“You should go,” he told her, bending his legs and standing up as much as the ceiling would let him. “Before it gets too late.”

Karen nodded and exited the van. Frank gave her a half-smile as she turned to say good night and the words caught in her throat. Then the door was closed, the engine turned over, and he was gone.

She stood bewildered on the sidewalk for a few minutes before slapping hands to her cheeks and shaking her head. Stay focused. She had to stay focused. She’d brought her own car, she’d have to drive it back, pray she could find a parking spot close to her place…

Karen fumbled with the keys but started the car and clenched the wheel as she crawled through the streets of Hell’s Kitchen. Focus on the road, don’t think about anything else.

Back in her apartment, she took off her bag, her jacket, saw the list of locations fall out of her pocket onto the table. Right. She’d have to contact Matt about that like she’d promised. It could wait, though, right, until tomorrow?

A shower. That would help. Then she could start reading _Blame_ now that she had Stantacki’s copy. Think about next month’s book group. And she’d forget that…

…that she’d told Frank everything. Without him demanding it from her. And that he’d completely accepted it as if it was nothing, as if it changed _nothing_. She’d murdered a man and covered up the crime and the Punisher didn’t think she should be punished for it.

But then the guilt came back, the _real_ guilt, not what she feigned with Wesley, the memory of his eyes when he talked about no longer being worthy of Maria and she was such a heel for imagining she could ever take her place. For _wanting_ to take her place.

She wasn’t in love with him, she told herself. This was just lust, mixed with concern, mixed with needing the strange affirmation he could give her. Being in love was a heady, giddy sensation, not this heavy ache wrapped around her heart.

What was undeniable at this point, though, was that her attraction to him was very real. Maybe she should keep their face-to-face contact at a minimum for a while, to keep herself from slipping up around him, and to make sure he didn’t figure out what was going on in her head.

But in spite of all of that, she still let herself fall back to what could have happened in the van, if she’d followed through on her impulse, if he was actually interested in her…it wasn’t enough. She wanted the real thing now.

She called Matt the next day. “I’ve got something important to talk to you about. Or…to talk to Daredevil about, I guess.”

“I can’t…Karen, I have my hands full right now, I can’t take on anything more.”

“It involves Frank.”

There was a silence on the other end of the phone. “Okay, I…I can’t really leave my place right now, I’m doing a lot of work here, could you…come by?”

Karen shifted awkwardly. She hadn’t been by his apartment since the night she’d found Elektra and Stick there. “I guess. Matt, what’s going on?”

He gave a bitter laugh. “You wouldn’t believe me.”

“I’m talking to a blind man who fights crime. I have a very open mind.”

“Just come over whenever you can, I’ll be here.”

“Matt, you _need_ to tell me what’s wrong.”

There was an even longer silence.

“Matt?”

“…Elektra is alive.”


	9. We all know the risks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhat shorter chapter this time, the next one's going to be a heavy chunk.

When he opened the door for her, Karen could see behind him that Matt’s apartment was strewn with books, papers, and maps, some in braille and others in print. His computer was out on his table next to a scanner. He hadn’t shaved, his glasses were off, and there were circles under his eyes. He gestured wordlessly for her to enter.

Karen walked in slowly over to the table, and looked at one of the book titles (something about the “Sengoku” period of Japan, whatever that was) and asked, “Matt…what… _is_ all of this?”

“Research.”

“Can you read these?” She lifted one of the sheets of paper, glancing at the text - a scientific article written by a Dr. Jane Foster.

“Just the things I printed out recently. I can feel the slight elevation of the ink. But over time, especially in books, it gets pressed out flat and it’s all meaningless to me. Plus, braille is a _lot_ faster. But some of the books I need aren’t available in braille. That’s why I’m scanning them, then letting the computer read them back to me.”

“That’s…a lot of work.”

“One of the benefits of being semi-employed is having a lot of free time on your hands.”

“What…” She looked at the titles again. Japanese history, the Battle for Manhattan, medical exam records, exoplanet research. “What’s really going on here, Matt?”

“See? I knew you wouldn’t believe me.”

“How can I? You said she died, in your arms, how could she be—”

“It’s complicated.”

“I don’t have anywhere else to be right now.” Karen folded her arms across her chest, knowing he should be able to tell that she had. It was a bit of a lie, but Ellison had given her permission to be tardy.

Matt sighed. “Okay. Okay.” He pulled a chair away from the table and sat down, and motioned at Karen to do the same. “Do you remember the yakuza who kidnapped you?” he asked her.

She nodded, caught herself, and said “Yes.”

“Actually, I can hear you move when you nod, the turtleneck…never mind.” Matt shook his head. “They weren’t yakuza, not really. They’re another group called the Hand that hired the yakuza at one point to do their dirty work. Stick – you remember, the old man I said trained me? – he claims that they date back to a ninja clan centuries ago in Japan that learned the secret of immortality, of coming back from the dead, from some… _demonic_ entity, and they’ve been persisting and spreading ever since. Most of their core leaders are unbelievably old because they can’t be killed. They have a few international members, but most of them are still local - they’ve got links to right-wing groups in Japan that horrify even their most conservative political parties. And now they’re trying to make Elektra part of them, because they believe she’s the true Black Sky, a vessel who can channel the power of whatever demon it is they think created them.”

Karen’s jaw had dropped right around the time he mentioned immortality. “You… _seriously_ believe all that? Zombie ninjas powered by demons?”

Matt gave a short laugh. “What _I_ believe is that Stick and his friends met an enemy that emerged out of Asia and slapped the label ‘magic’ on it because of the mystic orient or some nonsense and were too lazy to look into what’s really going on. I’ve some of the Hand come back from the dead before, I can’t deny _that_. But I _also_ saw what they were doing to the people they collected for their so-called Farm, and I talked to Claire about their bloodwork. That wasn’t magical, that was _chemical_. Biological knowledge beyond anything we have on Earth.”

“So you think, what, alien instead of magical?” She gave him an incredulous look. Karen still wasn’t certain whether he was lying to her again.

He shrugged. “We had Viking demigods from another planet drop onto Manhattan wielding laser guns, Karen, I think that’s the answer that makes the most sense, don’t you? Somebody or some _thing_ is providing them with this biotechnology, and they’re not human.”

“But…why?”

“That’s what keeps me up at night. Well, that and the question of whether the Hand are the only ones it’s helping.”

Karen felt a chill run down her spine. “God, Matt, now you’ve got me freaking out. I mean, people coming back from the _dead_? That’s something out of a horror movie.”

“Tell me about it. I’m still not clear on how I’m supposed to stop them.”

“And…they have Elektra?”

Matt’s head dropped. He never really made eye contact, with his blindness, and he could probably still sense her face, but he clearly didn’t want her to see his. “Yes. Yes they do.”

“You’re going to try to get her back?”

“…I _have_ to.”

The level of pain in Matt’s voice ripped at her heart. She wished Foggy and Frank were both here, to witness why, no, she and Matt could never be together again. This Elektra, this woman she’d never even met – he’d loved her. He _still_ loved her. Maybe it was selfish of her, but Karen didn’t feel like sharing Matt’s affections.

“Stick still wants to help her,” Matt continued, after he’d regained his composure. “But the rest of the Chaste – his organization – they’re not on board yet. So it’s just me and him. And meanwhile,” and here he laughed again, bitterly, “I’ve got to be in court next week to keep Sandra’s kids away from her husband, so, yeah, if I seem a little on edge, that’s why.”

Karen let out the breath she hadn’t noticed she’d been holding. “Okay, well, extraterrestrials and the undead are a little beyond the pay grade of a beat reporter.”

“Right, which is why I want you to stay on Fisk. Taking that responsibility off my back lets me deal with whatever the Hand is or whatever is using them from behind the curtains. So,” he looked up and stretched out his hands. “What is it you said you have on Frank?”

“Um, three locations.” She swallowed and took out the paper to hand to him. “It was written in ballpoint…”

Matt swept his fingers along the surface. “Yeah, I can still read the indentations. What are they for?”

“Something he’s planning. He wouldn’t tell me what. He wants you to make sure there are no bystanders there, no squatters or anything to get in his way.”

“Which one is he using? All of them?”

“You get to guess.”

“Great,” Matt muttered. Then he frowned. “One of these is up in Harlem.”

“He might be thinking that’s out of your territory.”

“Well it is, but he’ll have other trouble to deal with if he heads north.”

Karen realized what he meant. “So…the bulletproof man? He’s real? You met him?”

“Yeah. He also says there’s a woman named Jessica Jones, who sometimes works for the firm that Foggy’s at—”

“Yeah, I’ve met her.”

“Did you know she has powers?”

“She didn’t seem to want anyone to know.”

“Luke _did_ mention she kept to herself.” Karen assumed Luke was the hero up in Harlem. “They had a falling out of some kind, too. He was really reluctant to talk about it.”

“Baggage hitting people, I guess.”

“What?”

“Something Jessica said.”

“How well do you know her?”

“We’ve…she’s helped me a little with work, and we’ve socialized.”

“You didn’t want to mention any of this?”

“You never stay around very long when we talk, Matt.”

“We’re both busy people.”

“That’s a nice excuse to stay distant from your friends.”

“You _just_ said the business I’m dealing with is beyond you.”

“That doesn’t mean you should keep avoiding Foggy the way you have for the last, what, three _months_? Longer? He still cares about you!”

“Foggy…he has his career, he’s a fantastic lawyer, and meanwhile I’m out here breaking the law all the time. All I will do is get him in trouble, or he’ll start lecturing me again about why I have to quit. At least _you_ accept what I’m doing.  _You_ support it.”

“He would too if you weren’t letting it destroy your life!”

“What am I supposed to do differently, Karen? Huh? Do you have some personal wisdom, from your long career as a masked vigilante? What would _you_ recommend?”

The sarcasm stung, but she didn’t have a proper reply. He was right; she didn’t know what he should do. “You’ll have to figure it out for yourself, Matt,” she finally answered. “But we’ll be waiting whenever you do.” She pushed away from the table and stood up. “I delivered Frank’s message.” She cleared her throat. “Try to keep him from killing as many people as he usually does. I know he feels like the number doesn’t matter anymore, but it kind of does to me.”

Matt nodded slowly. “Yeah, I know what you mean.” He began to rise, but she waved a hand.

“I can see myself out.”

He’d at least called her busy too, so he wasn’t completely self-absorbed. And he was trusting her with Frank. But that didn’t mean she was ready to just take his word on this “Hand,” and Karen was incapable of staying incurious. She added it to her ever-growing list of long term things to investigate.

Karen had called Ellison to tell him that she’d be coming in late, but when she arrived at the Bulletin, she found most of the staff on the sidewalk outside with police cars blockading the building. Her heart leaped into her throat and she looked around frantically, mentally registering who was there and who wasn’t.

Alonzo caught her panicked expression and ran up to her. “Nobody’s hurt, yet. Angela got a letter on her desk today saying there was a bomb planted in the building.”

“Jesus. Do they think it’s real?”

“Who knows? Better safe than sorry, right?” He peered up at her. “Think it’s Reynard?”

“Who else hates us this much? He already tried to steal my phone…” The article on his extra mansion and family had run just the day before, and the former councilman had seemingly vanished into his penthouse, refusing to communicate with anyone.

“What I don’t get is,” Alonzo went on, “why the extreme reaction? So far we’ve uncovered just the usual political crap: bribery, corruption, affairs.”

Karen frowned. “You’re right. Maybe we’re barely scratching the surface here…” She glanced around. “Where’s—”

“Angela’s being questioned by the police. I also heard Ellison saying he was going to pull her off the case for a while, reassign it.”

“Ugh, after all the work she put in?” Karen was fuming.

“We’re stuck until they clear the building. Harrison proposed we all get coffee, see if we can figure out what we’re going to do with the rest of the day.”

She went with everyone else to a diner where the waitstaff just about had heart attacks at the dozens of people filing in. It took a while to get their orders straight, but eventually coffee, doughnuts, and a few other odds and ends were passed around, and everyone commiserated on the terrible start of the day.

“Whoever gets assigned Reynard,” Harrison declared, “we are bringing this bastard in. Intimidation of the press - where the hell does he think we are, Iran? This is America!”

“Yeah, the only people who get to tell us what we can or cannot publish are our corporate advertisers!” quipped Sarah from the business office.

Karen sat through their conversations, her mind wandering to all the revelations of the last 24 hours. She rubbed her temples, trying not to think about it, but something was sticking in her mind. Claire. Matt had said he’d talked to Claire about the Hand and she’d seen what they were doing. But that wasn’t much to go on. How many nurses in New York City were named Claire? She sighed and tried to focus on the journalists’ discussion.

“I don’t care what Ellison wants,” Alonzo was saying, “Angela’s the only person who knows Reynard’s case well enough to keep digging into it. You could _maybe_ catch Page up because she’s been helping, but she's not a great fit.”

“I don’t know how to deal with politicians,” Karen admitted. “I’m too confrontational.”

“Exactly. He wants to protect us, I get it, after what happened with Ben…” his voice trailed off and he gulped. “But we all know the risks.”

There were murmurs of assent from around the table. They didn’t have time to talk about it any more than that, because the bell over the door jangled as Ellison walked in.

“The bomb-sniffers haven’t found anything. It shouldn’t be too long, we’ll be back to work by noon.” As the volume rose with sounds of relief and questions about what had happened, he raised his hands to bring back silence. “Look, this has rattled all of us, Manus especially. And I’m ordering her to take some time off.” When people began to protest his hands went up again. “This _doesn’t_ mean we’re going to back off from _anything_ she’s been reporting on. And I’d like to remind everyone that baseless speculation has no place at the Bulletin. We still don’t know who’s responsible. But I’m going to keep my reporters safe. Now,” he turned to the counter, “I take mine black.”

Room was made for him among the rest of the staff and he sat down in a booth near the center of the gathered crowd.

“We’ll have to divide up her work. Taylor, you’re on all council meetings. Huang, you get the school district’s fight against the new standardized tests. As for Reynard, man,” Ellison rubbed the bridge of his nose under his glasses with two fingers. “I haven’t decided who yet. I know, I said baseless speculation, but after what happened with Page…the police couldn’t prove it was him, but…behind the scenes is going to be best for a while. Garrett, Page,” he pointed to Alonzo, then Karen, “in the meantime I want you two to gather up her notes and files this afternoon so we at least have everything in order.”

Thus Karen spent the remainder of her day in Angela’s office, stacking up documents and trying to decipher her filing system, much of which seemed based on associations known only to Angela.

“Hey, I’m sorry if what I said at the diner was a little harsh,” Alonzo apologized as he handed her another stack of folders.

“What, about me not being up for the Reynard case? I know that, I didn’t argue with you.”

“Well, we don’t know each other that well yet…”

“That’s because I’m a complete rookie. Ellison has already trusted me with more than he should. All of you have been so accepting of me, barging my way in here, I’m not going to make any unreasonable demands.”

“We _had_ to accept you.” When she gave him a surprised look, he shrugged. “You were Ben’s protégé. We couldn’t even bring ourselves to clear out the office after he was killed. Then you show up out of the blue, taking up right where he left off…Ellison almost cried, Page. Said it was a sign. You’re carrying on his legacy.”

Karen winced. “Oh, jeez, no pressure.”

“You got a long way to go before you’re Ben Urich. But if things’d gone differently, he’d be the one whipping your ass into shape, not Angela.”

That made her smile. Underneath it, though, was pain and anger. After her talk with Frank she was ready to admit that a _lot_ of it was anger. Stopping Fisk wasn’t just keeping a bad man off the streets or ridding her life of a danger. This was justice for Ben. This was her atonement, her revenge, her justification all rolled up into one case.

When the hell would Jessica get back to her with that information on Olmos…?

At the end of the day, Ellison still hadn’t chosen who to pass Reynard over to, and everyone was in a gloomy mood. Even when drinks were suggested, no one was in the frame of mind to take up the offer. The evening edition went out, in print and online, the late night staff came in, and the rest went home.

Karen drove back, wishing she hadn’t bothered with a car since she hadn’t gone anywhere other than the office. She didn’t get lucky on a parking spot and had to walk two blocks anyway, clutching her purse and wondering if Reynard was planning anything else. But nothing happened en route, and her building was quiet as she trudged upstairs. She’d half expected to find her door ajar and her room ransacked, imagining herself desperately calling Alonzo to make sure he was okay, but everything was normal.

Inside, Karen dropped her keys on the table and made a quick supper. She played some of the evening news on her phone, listening to a primary debate where the candidates argued the merits of the Sokovia Conventions, trade relations with Wakanda, and a dozen other things that felt distant from her life.

Then one of them brought up warrantless wiretapping, and suddenly her blood ran cold. Karen jumped up and started searching the apartment, every nook and cranny, under her bed, in the corners, behind her dresser. The longer she looked the more Karen wondered if she was becoming paranoid.

But she wasn’t.

A microphone attached to a file drive was taped to the tattered upholstery under her couch. She had no idea how long it had been there, and she started to feel sick to her stomach. Had it been recording when Frank had been in the apartment? Karen scoured all over it, but she couldn’t see a transmitter on it – hoped there wasn’t one – couldn’t imagine how it could transmit anything under her couch, but… someone had been in her apartment, listening to her, spying on her.

Depending on how sensitive the microphone was they would have heard a _lot_.

She sat on her couch, staring at the bug, debating what to do with it. She finally pulled out her phone and dialed.

Frank picked up quickly. “That’s a first, you contacting me.”

“You said you had a friend who was good with machines, right?”

“Something like that.”

“I need him to have a look at something I found in my apartment.”

“What happened?”

“I’ve been bugged. I don’t know how long it was there, how much it heard, whether it transmitted it to someone, or whether it’s still on this flash drive.”

There was a pause on the other end. “I’ll call you back.”

Karen tapped her fingers on her knee as she waited impatiently, watching the minutes tick by. Then she received a text message with an email address in it.

>send a photo here

She complied, snapping several images of the bug from multiple angles before attaching them all to the email. That meant more waiting as the images uploaded, as the message sent, as she waited for a reply. Karen was envisioning the worst case scenario: that her relationship with Frank was completely exposed. Not just that they were working together, but also some more humiliating circumstances under which she may have said his name more than a few times.

Finally her phone began to play “Shining Star” and she answered. “Well?”

“He says flush it. It’s an old model, probably can’t trace it through the second-hand stores. But it didn’t send jack, it’s all on that drive.”

“Okay, in that case I want to check what’s on it first, to know when they set this up. But thank you. That’s a huge relief. I need to let my coworkers know, too…”

“Think it’s Fisk?”

“No, no, there’s another corrupt scumbag I’m hunting down, I think it’s more likely him.”

“…this scumbag have a name?”

“He’s an elected official, Frank, or at least he was, you are _not_ killing him.”

“Just checking.”

“Oh Christ, I’ll have to change my locks. My building manager is going to hate me.”

“Let me ask my guy if I can get some extra security for your place, too.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Hey, I’m watching my ass as much as yours here. They hear you and me talking, that’s all the proof the cops’ll need to show I’m still alive.”

Karen almost laughed. “I didn’t know you even cared about that.”

“It keeps ’em from interfering with me.”

“It keeps them from _stopping_ you, you mean.”

“I don’t want to stop, ma’am. Sooner you accept that about me the better.”

“I don’t want you to stop either.” She said it without thinking, but Karen knew it was true. She’d admitted as much to Matt before, when they’d argued over Frank. “At least, not completely. I just want you to be in control of yourself. To not go back to operating on rage again.”

“Well, ain’t that something,” he chuckled wryly.

“I keep telling you I’m not a good person,” but Karen was smiling as she said it.

He must have heard the joke her in her voice because he didn’t contradict her as strongly this time. “I just like that the good angel on my shoulder’s only telling me to kill _less_.”

“Oh, I’m no angel.” Karen pulled her knees up. This was starting to feel familiar.

“Don’t really want you to be.”

“Then what _do_ you want me to be?”

“…What?”

The confusion in his voice snapped her into awareness. She’d had a similar conversation with Matt before, and she’d definitely been flirting with him then, and with the playfulness of her tone she’d been _this_ close to doing the same with Frank. She kicked herself and decided to shut their call down. “Well, thanks for the help. I’ll see if I can figure out how long it’s been there and then I’ll destroy it.”

“Right. Stay safe.”

“Good night, Frank.” As she hung up she realized that was probably a silly thing to say, as knowing Frank he’d be out prowling the city tonight. Matt would be too, hopefully scouting out the sites and figuring out a way to keep a rein on the Punisher.

Ironic. The angel on Frank’s shoulder was the one telling him this was all okay. It was the Devil trying to stop him.


	10. It's Valentine's Day

Alonzo and Angela’s homes had also had been bugged, and they quietly spread the word around the office for everyone else to check. All three agreed not to contact the police, or to let Ellison know what was happening. Their case against Reynard was already on precarious enough ground that their editor would likely pull the plug if he knew there had been any further moves against them. As much as Angela was shaken by the invasion of her family’s privacy (after all, unlike Alonzo and Karen, she had a child at home), she was even more resolved to not give up on their pursuit of the former councilman.

Karen had listened to the audio on the drive from her apartment, and determined that it had only been been placed there about two days ago – probably right after Angela had gone to get Reynard’s statement about his mistress and children. The drives had nearly filled in just that short a span of time, so it wasn’t clear whether this was the first time any of them had been bugged, or if someone had been regularly breaking in to spy on them.

“My guess is this was the first time,” Angela told her over the phone. “Reynard’s reaction to me showing him those photos was not good, let’s just say. I don’t think he had realized how deep we are into his finances. He must be scared of what we’re going to uncover. Besides, my husband’s home often enough that they wouldn’t have had many chances to get in.”

To make sure, Karen had inquired with Gertrude and Stanley, and they both clearly remembered a woman coming to her apartment two days earlier, but no one else before. “We assumed you knew her, she got in so easily,” Stanley said. “You shouldn’t hand the keys around, dearie, not everyone out there’s a nice girl like you. My granddaughter married her partner last year, if you need some help meeting better women, they have some very nice friends…” Thank heaven for nosy neighbors keeping you safe, even if they did assume her life was full of a lot more sex and lot less life-threatening danger.

Karen listened to some of the audio on earbuds as she typed out a report on a traffic accident on the Washington Bridge. The majority of it was silence, since Karen was almost never home. But the night after the van, she hadn’t bothered to get into bed before starting and the microphone under the couch had heard everything. Listening to herself was absolutely mortifying, not simply because someone else might have had the chance to overhear it but also did she _really_ sound like that? God, how could that be so _not_ sexy to listen to?

She’d borrowed a hammer from the custodian and flushed the smashed pieces down the toilet.

Alonzo was waiting for her when she came out of the bathroom. “That bad, huh?”

“Just not something I wanted anyone else to hear.”

“I get you. We’ve all got secrets. I did the same thing.”

“You’re freaking out less than me,” she observed.

The photographer shrugged. “All this means is two things. First, we’re on to something big. Second, we gotta be more careful from now on. Did you check your office too?”

Karen nodded. “And my car. Nothing there.”

“Nice.” He gave her a grin and a slight slug on her arm. “You and me think the same way.”

The next day, while her building manager was installing new locks on her place, Karen received a private message on Facebook from Dwayne. He hadn’t contacted her directly since the book group, but she’d been following him a little out of curiosity, and he seemed nice. He was awkward around his parents (who were obviously quite wealthy), supported the right kind of causes, loved _Hamilton_ , and generally didn’t make an ass out of himself. Karen had tentatively liked a few of his posts as a gesture of friendship.

Now his message read, “I know it’s a little sudden, but would you like to go out to eat this weekend? It sucks spending Valentine’s alone.”

Karen had completely forgotten the impending holiday with the madness at work, but sure enough, this Sunday was the day for lovers, and she felt the usual pang of loser status at being single. Did she really want to spend it with Dwayne, though? Would he consider it a bigger deal because of the date?

The memory of listening to herself climaxing with Frank’s name on her lips brought a rush of warmth to her cheeks, and she decided it didn’t matter. Socializing with someone other than a murderer would be good for her, even it turned out to be a bust. “Sure, that sounds fun! Where would you like to go?”

The restaurant he picked was even fancier than the one that Matt had chosen for their first date. The dining hall had chandeliers. The toilets had cloth towels and attendants at the door. And while Karen was wearing her nicest dress, it was nowhere near nice enough. It would have been the H, C, & B party all over again if Dwayne hadn’t met her in a shirt and garish tie with no jacket.

“Are we violating a dress code?” she asked as they met in the lobby.

“I sure hope so,” he winked.

As the waiter seated them and handed them the menus, Dwayne went on talking.

“One of the benefits of being a trust-fund baby is you can afford to eat well. One of the downsides is being expected to always act your class. I rebel where I think it’s relevant.”

Karen noticed the glances they were getting from the older, more established-looking clientele and grinned in spite of her nerves. “You’ll have to order for me, I’m not comfortable with much beyond Chinese takeout.”

“Well, dang, if I’d known I would’ve taken you to Ming’s over in Chinatown!”

He didn’t actually order for her, just helped interpret the menu so she could choose what she wanted. It was considerate of him, very much in keeping with what his Facebook page made him appear to be. “So, um, your family really is that rich?”

“My dad’s a bigwig as Oscorp and my mom inherited a fortune when grandpa passed. Which doesn’t make them bad people, by any means. The fact that they have their own SuperPac, on the other hand…”

“Wow. Okay, that rich then.”

“Look, I’ve already told them I don’t want anything after college. I’ve lived a life of privilege, I’d like the chance to prove myself without their money. And to give back. And maybe fix some of the damage Oscorp’s done to the world.”

Karen played with her napkin. “So…how is Columbia?”

“It’s going pretty well! I’m still debating whether I want to end at the Masters level or continue on to a doctorate. It all comes down to whether I want to stay in academia or not. I don’t know if I can see myself as a professor. I think my parents cursed me when they named me ‘Dwayne.’”

“Well, you’ve still got time, I guess. It can take a while to figure out what you really want to do. I went through I don’t know how many jobs before I sort of landed in the Bulletin by accident.”

“Hmm, yeah, I felt I should mention, I looked at some of your articles.”

Oh boy, here it came.

“You’ve been working on the Reynard resignation a little? I read your piece on the slumlord Arminsen.”

She felt a burst of relief. “Yes! Though most of the work’s being done by one of my colleagues, I’m still kind of the junior member of the staff.”

Their plates came, and eating gave Karen a moment to internally rejoice that maybe he hadn’t read the Punisher stories. Or maybe, unlike Alex, he wasn’t a callous enough asshole to bring up morbid subjects right off the bat.

“I think you’re really in touch with the underprivileged of the city. It’s a perspective a lot of reporters lack, frankly. Are you from around here?”

“I’m from Vermont, actually. I’m definitely an outsider looking in. I mean, I think of myself as a New Yorker, you know, but…I’ve got friends who’ve lived here their entire lives, and it’s a whole different story with them. New York’s in their blood.”

“Vermont’s gorgeous, my family went there to see the color every year growing up. But I wouldn’t have guessed you weren’t from around here. It comes through in all your work, even the Punisher ones.”

Crap. “You…read those too?”

“Well, yeah. It’s not pleasant, but it’s part of the reality of the city right now. He’s a manifestation of the disenchantment with the American legal process.”

“See, that’s what I keep trying to tell people, but they don’t believe me! If people weren’t unhappy with how law enforcement works in this city, he wouldn’t stand a chance at evading the police.”

“It helps that he’s white, too.” When she looked baffled, he shrugged. “Think about it. If he were black or God forbid Middle Eastern, we’d have SWAT teams turning New York into a warzone trying to root him out, rather than the DA sitting on their hands pretending he’s dead. I’m not saying he’s like one of those white militia guys or something, but it’s another example of how the system is broken.”

“I hadn’t thought about it like that, but I guess you’re right.” She poked at her chicken parmesan. “I really don’t want to talk about him over dinner, though. I see all the crime scenes, and they’re not exactly appetizing.”

“Of course.” Dwayne smiled. “How are you liking _Blame_ so far?”

Books were an easy course of conversation, and they continued on with it for a while, going through Karen’s recent reading list, as they gradually cleared their plates. Karen wasn’t certain whether Dwayne was true boyfriend material, but he was easy enough to talk to that she’d already resolved to give him a second date, when her phone buzzed. Startled, Karen apologized and fished it out of her purse. “I thought I’d put it on silence…” She looked at the message. It was from Frank (of course, he always contacted her at the least convenient time) and read:

> need help

“Who is it?”

“Oh, just a source of mine. I’ll call him back when we’re finished.”

A waiter swept in, holding a dessert menu. “Would either of you like anything else to finish off your meal?”

“No thank you,” she demurred.

“I will have the gateau.” After the waiter left, he said, “I’ve had it before. It’s big enough that if you change your mind we can split it. You don’t exactly have to watch your figure or anything.”

“I’m very full. This place was a great choice. I will admit I was intimidated by the ambience at first, but the company helped. You’re very…chill.”

“I try to be! And don’t think that this has to even be a date, I just…it feels like I always have a breakup about a month before Valentine’s day and I spend the day watching movies and trying not to feel like my love life is doomed, so I thought, why not reach out to someone nice from book group, right?”

“Right! But…if you want it to be a date—” Her phone buzzed again. “I am _so_ sorry.”

> now

“Dammit,” she muttered. “I need to answer this.”

> I’m busy

“Hey, don’t let me keep you from anything important.”

“It’s not, he’s just very—” another buzz.

> emergncy. nedd hekp

Typos weren’t like Frank, and Karen started to worry. She’d had all her news alerts turned off for her date, though chances were nothing about Frank would have shown up this quickly. “Can I make a quick call?”

“Of course.” Dwayne’s face was as concerned as hers was.

Karen rushed to the lobby and dialed Frank. “What happened?”

“Lot of blood,” he rasped. His breath was ragged. “Bring towels, any first aid you got. Meet me across from Yellow Brick.”

“I’m on a date, Frank, it’s Valentine’s Day, I—” She ran a hand through her hair anxiously, then looked up to find that Dwayne had followed her into the lobby. “I’ll see what I can do,” she told him, but Frank had already hung up. “I’m sorry, Dwayne, I think I have to go.”

“I understand. This was my treat anyway. Or my parent’s treat, I guess, since they’re footing the bill. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Actually…”

Five minutes later she was standing in the alley outside the restaurant with Dwayne tossing her fancy hand towels through the bathroom window, occasionally checking to make sure the attendant he’d bribed was keeping his promise to not let anyone is. “This is awesome!” he hissed at her, beaming from ear to ear. “I’ve never been on a date that ended in theft before!”

“Striking back at the bourgeoisie?”

“Absolutely!” He waved to her once the last towel was passed through. “I’ll see you online!”

Karen drove her car as quickly as she could to the diner and found Frank’s van parked in its spot across the street. She ran to it, holding the pile of towels tightly to her chest to keep from dropping any. She knocked on the door, didn’t get an answer, then tried pulling it open herself.

It swung along the track to reveal Frank sprawled against the opposite wall, holding a rag to his side. It was soaked crimson, and a pool of blood was starting to form on the floor beside him. Her stomach lurched at the sight of it. Frank looked up groggily at her and he managed a lopsided smile. “Took you long enough.”

“Holy shit, what happened?” her voice was little more than a gasp as she climbed in and closed the door behind her.

“Let a guy get too close to me in a fight.” Frank winced, the mere act of talking obviously hurting him. From over in a corner, Max whined anxiously, though his tail flapped a little when he saw Karen.

“What do you need me to do?”

“Get the towels. And my kit over there.” He pointed weakly at the driver’s seat, and she saw a large red bag jammed beneath it. She pulled it out and knelt by his side, careful not to step in the blood.

“So what do I do?”

“Put on fresh towels.” When Karen reached to pull away the rag he had on it, he batted her hand away. “Shit, no, don’t take it off, just add more!”

“I’m sorry, I have no first aid training whatsoever, so I don’t exactly know what I’m doing!” She took a deep breath, trying not to stare at the blood. “You’ll…have to talk me through it.”

“Okay, take a towel, press it down as hard as you can.”

She did as he said, and watched a red bloom appear under her hands. This had to be horribly unsanitary.

“Another one.”

She stacked on two more towels before it stayed white and Frank signaled her to stop. His face was pale and he was breathing as if he’d been running a marathon. He had to be in a lot of pain.

“Okay, now,” he put his hand over the towels and jabbed his chin at the kit. “Open it up, get out the alcohol, forceps, needle and thread. Give ’em to me, then go find the flask I got shoved under the passenger seat too.”

Karen handed him the supplies, then released her hand from the wound long enough to find that, yes, he had a small flask of liquor, completely full from the feel of it. She doubted Frank drank much other than coffee. “What’s this for?”

“Me. This is gonna hurt like a bitch.” He uncapped it and took a long swig, then handed it to her. “You too.”

“Why?”

“’Cause you’re going to help and you’re shaking like a leaf.”

She was. She hadn’t noticed. Trying not to think that his lips had just been pressed against the mouth of the bottle, she took a drink for herself and grimaced at the all-too-familiar taste of cheap vodka. “We’re both boozed up, what’s next?”

He indicated the towels. “Take ’em off. Real slow. Take the pressure off too quickly and I’ll bleed out.”

Karen peeled off each layer gingerly, dropping them one by one in a bloody pile next to them on the floor of the van. Max came over to sniff the gruesome stack and she had to shoo him away. Finally they came to the last layer, and Frank did the removal himself this time.

Underneath was a hideous gash at least two inches wide and very deep, puckered and swollen, without much of a scab to speak of. It was seeping blood more slowly now, though, and Karen managed to choke down her rising gorge. “Oh God. That’s just…I don’t know how to do stitches.”

“I do. But first we got to get it out.”

“Okay, I may not know first aid, but I _do_ know that you’re not supposed to go fishing a bullet out of a wound, that only makes things worse.”

“True, but this ain’t a bullet.” He grabbed the forceps and splashed alcohol over them and his wound. “Press down on either side of the cut, keep it from gushing too much while I work.”

Karen took a deep breath and placed a hand above and below the cut. It puckered the wound more, but the bleeding didn’t get much worse. Then Frank plunged the forceps in and she had to look away. “Oh _Jesus_ , how can you do that?”

“Not wanting to die’ll make you put with a lot of pain,” he gasped. He dug around for a moment. “Okay. Got it. Stay real still, this is the tricky part.”

He slowly, carefully began to remove the forceps, teeth gritting and brow soaked in sweat at the effort. After an agonizing minute, Karen finally looked back to see what it was he was extracting. It wasn’t a bullet; it was a _knife_ , a small switchblade that had snapped off at the handle. Definitely not something you wanted to leave in your torso. “Oh shit. Oh _shit_ , you had that _inside_ you?”

“Broke off, and the wound just sucked it in,” he managed to say, voice strained. “Keep the pressure on it.”

She did, staring in dumbstruck horror as he finished pulling out the blade, miraculously severing nothing in the process. He tossed it onto the pile of towels and set his head against the wall of the car with a heaving sigh, closing his eyes. It took Karen a few moments to realize he’d passed out.

“Frank!” She shouted. “Frank wake up!” She was scared to remove her hands from their position over the wound, but finally settled on clamping her fingers on one side and her thumb on the other to free a hand to slap him across the face.

His eyes snapped open and he nodded at her. “Yeah, sorry. Needle and thread now.”

Karen held her hands in place as he began sewing himself shut. Every time he stuck the needle into his skin she had to close her eyes. She couldn’t imagine the resolve it would take to be able to perform simple surgery like this on yourself. She also couldn’t believe that she hadn’t passed out herself.

As he was finishing up, her phone began to ring, her general ringtone rather than anyone in particular. Karen glanced down at her pocket for a second, but stayed focused on keeping Frank’s wound shut. He kept stitching methodically, finally tying off the last bit of thread. “There. You can let go now.”

She did, and she felt her hands ache from the pressure she’d put on them. “God. I can’t believe I actually just did that.”

“You were good.”

Before she could reply, her phone buzzed.

“You gonna read that? Might be important.”

“Okay…” She fumbled for her phone out of her pocket and noticed her hands were bright red, coated in Frank’s blood. She left a smudge on her screen as she checked the message.

> Page this is Ellison big scene up in harlem come asap punisher involved

Karen’s eyes rose from the message to Frank’s exhausted face. She knew that he had to have been up to something big, maybe even related to the locations she’d passed to Matt, but she hadn’t imagined it would leave him this badly injured. There was a part of her, in spite of seeing his cuts and bruises, that thought of the Punisher as invincible.

She tucked the phone away. “What else do you need? I-I-I can get you food from the diner, help you clean up.”

“Was that work?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“They want you to report on me again? This’d be a story for sure.” He smiled mockingly.

“I can stay here. Besides, my breath’s going to smell like that moonshine.” Her phone buzzed yet again.

“Go,” he said, his voice so tired and quiet that it was practically inaudible.

“I can’t leave you like this!”

“Hey,” and he reached out, putting a hand under her chin to make her meet his eyes. In spite of his weakness his gaze was still as steady as it had ever been. “ _Go_.”

She didn’t want to. The shock and horror of his injury was starting to pass and be replaced by a lightheaded dizziness mixed with concern for his safety. She was having trouble focusing. His eyes still had her pinned down and she didn’t know how to argue with him. Then Max came up and nosed her in the arm and the spell was broken. Karen realized that of course, he was right, if she didn’t go now Ellison would demand an explanation for where she had been and their entire cover would be blown. If he worried about her safety with Reynard, he’d ground her if he knew she was working with the Punisher.

“Okay,” she whispered. “But contact me whenever you get back to…wherever you go. Please.”

He nodded slowly and let go of her face. She stood shakily, taking in the grisly scene around her one last time before stumbling out of the van.

She was halfway across the street before she remembered the state of her hands. Oh God there was so much of his blood on them. Staring down, she had flashes of the last time they’d looked like this, of turning her head to find Daniel Fisher’s body on her apartment floor. It had started all over again, the police, prison, everything in Vermont only worse and someone had tried to kill her in there and…and…

Karen tucked her hands under her coat as she entered the Yellow Brick Wall. “I need to use your bathroom.”

Once inside, she began washing the caked blood off her hands. Her mind was looping back to blood. Seeping into the lodge floor in Fagan Corners, seeping into her carpet, seeping _out_ of Wesley’s chest. No, she couldn’t think about all of that right now, she just had to get rid of the blood. She scrubbed until her skin hurt and the water in the sink had turned from murky pink to clear again. She inhaled and exhaled slowly, and stepped back to see herself in the mirror. Some had gotten on her face from where Frank had touched her – she grabbed a towel and rubbed it off. Some was on her coat, too. She dabbed at it, couldn’t really get it off. Maybe she could pass it off as marinara sauce.

Crap. She should _not_ have thought about food.

Karen vomited the entire expensive dinner she’d had with Dwayne into the toilet. What a waste. She didn’t stop there either, brought up bile that left an acrid taste in her mouth. Well, at least her breath wouldn’t smell like alcohol anymore, she thought bitterly.

It took her two minutes to work herself up to leave the bathroom and get in her car, another three before she felt she was safe to drive. All the while she was wondering whether Frank was all right, if he was still conscious, if he was going to be okay. His van was still there, she could run and check, but he’d been adamant she had to go. And he’d said he’d call. She had to trust him.

She barely needed directions from Ellison to find the location. There were two cars still on fire, the blaze rising into the night sky over Harlem. The building behind them was still smoking, but mostly extinguished. A fleet of cop cars and fire engines had gathered around the scene, containing the flames, the swarm of reporters and onlookers, and a crowd behind the tape. Karen got out of her car, at a complete loss as to where to begin. She held out her press pass and pushed her way as close as she could.

Near the tape, she saw four chalk outlines on the pavement and almost a dozen handcuffed men, most with visible bruises, cut lips, and black eyes. Had Frank had to retreat without killing them because of his wounds? What the hell had happened here?

“Page!” She heard Ellison’s shout over the hubbub. So he’d come out himself, that was rare, though the enormity of the event perhaps justified it. They managed to meet halfway. “Where were you?”

“On a date,” she answered numbly, echoing her words to Frank. “It’s Valentine’s Day.”

“Well, we’ve got a Valentine’s Day Massacre. There’s five bodies in those two cars, another four dead, eleven injured and waiting for the police when they showed up.”

“The Punisher wouldn’t leave anyone alive.”

“He wasn’t the only one here. I’ve been canvassing the neighborhood, he started this but within five minutes two other people showed up to interfere. One was our old friend the Daredevil, and the other was someone unknown. Black guy, about six-foot-three, not a lot of details but he came in by motorcycle and started getting in between the Punisher and the gang.”

“Who were they?”

“Nobody knows.”

“I don’t mean _him_ , I mean the gang, who were they?”

“Serbian muscle, supposedly sell their services to the highest bidder. I recognized their boss before they bagged him. No idea why they were all here.” He thumbed at the abandoned convenience store behind the carnage, whose boarded-up windows were now charred black. “You don’t look surprised to hear the Devil had help,” he added.

“I’ve heard rumors…” Matt had teamed up with the unbreakable man from Harlem. Okay. Good. He needed friends, allies…her eyes were caught by the flame. “What…what do you need me to do?”

“The usual. Talk to the police, talk to witnesses—”

“It was the Punisher!” One of the men shouted as a cop pulled him to his feet, his leg heavily bandaged. “Don’t let these _yebachi_ tell you he’s dead! I got him! _Kao svinja!_ Stuck him like a pig!”

Kaen’s stomach lurched again. She brought a hand to her mouth and started to bend over.

“Page…Page...” She could hear Ellison’s voice but it seemed to be coming from a distance. Everything seemed distant, even her own body. She was floating, falling…

“Karen!” His shout brought her back to reality.

“I…I’m sorry, I don’t know what happened.”

“You’re shaking.” Ellison placed a hand on either shoulder to steady her, his eyes filled with alarm.

“I’ll be fine.”

“No, no you won’t.” He shook his head. “Karen, I’m taking you off the Punisher incidents for a while.”

“What?! No! Y-y-you can’t, you said I’m the only one who’s objective about him, and—”

“I know! I know what I said, and I know you feel that you’re the only one who can treat Frank Castle fairly, and maybe you’re right. But I’ve been watching you the last month, and you can’t keep diving into this neck deep without it getting to you. You’re under a huge amount of stress right now. What you just had looked a lot like an anxiety attack, and you need to take it easy.”

“So, what, you’re going to stick me on fluff pieces while I-I-I see a shrink?!” Karen’s voice was turning into a shriek and she couldn’t control the volume.

“No!” Ellison grabbed her arm and pulled her out of the crowd. “Look, I’d already decided on this today, but seeing you tonight clinches it. I’m letting you keep Reynard warm until Angela gets back.”

“What? No, I’m not qualified—”

“No interviews, no talking to anyone, all you’re going to do is sit on it, follow through on her leads behind the scenes. Quietly. Desk work. Which is exactly what you need right now.”

“After what Reynard’s done to us so far, how is that going to be any less stressful?”

“Because Garrett’s going to be working with you.”

“Alonzo? He’s a photographer—”

“—who cut his teeth covering the Arab Spring. Or hasn’t he told you that story yet? Why do you think I’ve been assigning him to you and Angela recently? The best thing you can do to keep yourself safe is follow that man’s lead.”

 _We’ve all got our secrets_. “I can’t…I can’t just abandon him.”

“I’ll write this one myself. And I’ll find someone I trust. But taking care of my people means watching out for their emotional as well as their physical safety.” He let go of her almost apologetically. “If you _do_ think you need to talk to someone, that health insurance policy you got when you signed on covers it.”

Karen gave a nod of agreement, but her past experience with mental health care didn’t make her eager to even consider the idea right then. “So I guess I go home now?”

“And get some rest. Read a happy book. Call a friend.”

Ellison was playing dad again, she knew, and as she rode a cab home (she was in no state to drive, she’d pick her car up the next day) she even accepted it. The way that the memories of everything that had happened to her had rushed in like an overwhelming flood was making her wonder whether Frank might not be the only one of them dealing with some post-traumatic stress.

In her apartment, she debated calling someone. But who? Not Foggy, not Jessica. Matt. Okay. She dialed his number. There was no answer. He was probably still out with Luke, if that really was the Harlem hero’s name. Maybe hunting for the Punisher, since they’d stepped in to stop him. Probably saved his life, too, by letting him run with that gash in his stomach.

There’d been no call from him. It had well over an hour, almost two. She ran a finger along the red stain on her screen and found his number.

It answered, but there was silence from the other side. “Frank? Are you there?” No reply. “I’m sorry, I’m just…I’m calling to make sure you’re all right, I left you there bleeding and…please say something.”

“This isn’t Castle.” The voice on the other end had a slight buzzing distortion. Karen almost panicked, but remembered the 911 call made for the drug mules. “He’s sleeping right now. Gave him a cocktail of antibiotics and sedatives to let him recover.”

“This is his…friend? The one who’s good with machines?”

“More an ally than a friend, but yes. I’ve been working up a new security system for you.”

“Thank you. How…how is he doing?”

“Fine. He said he’s never going to ask you to do that again because he didn’t know what a huge pussy you were around blood.”

Karen snorted, and it turned into almost hysterical laughter.

“It’s not that funny.”

“No, it’s just…I’ve been around blood plenty, it just tends to bring back bad memories. Plus, you know, I don’t like to see him hurt that badly.”

“Huh.”

When he didn’t continue, she stammered, “Y-y-you don’t have to tell him I called.”

“I will.” There was another lengthy pause. “Usually he just glares daggers at me if I mention you, but…if Castle’s got a friend at this point, it’s you. He lost everything once, he doesn’t want to lose it again, so he acts like he doesn’t care, but…yeah. I’ll tell him and he’ll pretend real hard that it doesn’t make him happy that you called.”

Karen hugged herself. “That would be nice.”

Whoever his ally was, he hung up after that.

She noticed there were PMs in Facebook from Dwayne. “I had a great time this evening.” “Saw the news, I guess that’s why you had to go.” “Let me know if you want to go out again, otherwise I’ll see you at book group!”

She _had_ had a great time with him, but right now it felt as if it had happened years ago rather than hours. Karen was utterly spent and seeing Dwayne’s cheerful profile picture made him seem as if he lived in another world from her. Maybe he did. How could she ever explain to him all the things she’d done, or what she was still doing now?

Karen wasn’t ready to even think about it. She didn’t change clothes, just slipped off her shoes and curled under her blankets. Her fantasy that night wasn’t anything erotic, merely nestling in next to Frank in the van and holding him, Max’s head in her lap, as they all three fell asleep.


	11. Cheaper than therapy

Josie’s was busy on a Friday night, with all the working stiffs of the area celebrating the end of the week. Karen still managed to find Jessica fairly easily.

Mostly because she was in the middle of a bar fight. It didn’t last long; Jessica effectively tossed the angry drunk back into his seat, which earned her cheers from the gathered patrons. Jessica looked as if she didn’t know quite how to react to that at first, but then she lifted her beer and grinned, and the cheers got louder.

“I _like_ this place,” she declared as Karen sat down with her.

“It looks like a dive, smells like a dive, really it _is_ a dive, but the regular crowd is fantastic.”

“Speaking of fantastic, boy do I have some news for you.” Jessica took a short sip before continuing. “I had to purchase some blackout curtains in the process, which you will owe me for unless it turns out I like them, which I might, morning light is killer on hangovers. Anyway. Our Mr. Olmos bought them about a month back, right after he transferred out of Rikers. Which is also when he broke up with his lovely girlfriend, who I talked to. She said he gave her the usual line of ‘It’s not you, it’s me,’ but then he added that he still loved her but now was not a good time in his life. And to top it off, he closed his long-running tab at a local bar around the same time. So,” and here she tapped her bottle with a finger, “if you wanted to know if this was a change in behavior, your answer would be hell. Fucking. Yes.”

“He’s trying to hide from Fisk.”

“Sure seems like it.”

“God…” Karen felt exhausted. It hadn’t mattered how much she slept the last week, she still felt tired by the end of the day. It wasn’t because work was more demanding, it simply felt like getting out of bed itself was a trial. “Um, okay. Maybe he’s our weak link. Maybe he didn’t like his deal with Fisk and got out. Is he being watched?”

“Uh, I’m guessing his phone lines and internet are being tapped, or he’s afraid they are, based on how little he’s been using them. He hasn’t even been looking at _porn_ , just using Netflix. Makes me wonder what kind of freaky stuff he was into that he’s worried about Fisk knowing…”

“Is anyone else following him? In the real world, I mean.”

“Not that I can tell. Do you plan on talking to him?”

Now was where the danger set in, where the wrong move meant Fisk knowing everything. “I’m not sure. It’s…risky.”

“Want me to go with?” At her surprised look, Jessica shrugged. “I would make a helluva bodyguard. Standard rates still apply.”

“I guess. I’ll think about it.”

“…You okay?”

“I’m tired, that’s all. My boss…he thinks I need to take it easier right now. He says I’m overstressed, that I should talk to someone.”

“Guh, therapy.”

“I know, I don’t want to do it.”

“Eh, it can help. It won’t ever fix everything, but you need some kind of foundation, I guess. The rest is all on you. The coping-with-life part. What’s eating you now?”

“Everything. Not having enough friends that I can…trust with my problems.”

“Ah.” Jessica finished her beer. “Well, taking out Fisk will probably help in the long run, but it’s going to be uphill before that. I’ve been looking into this guy, he’s a piece of fucking work. Does his thing by controlling and manipulating people. I’m way too familiar with that kind of asshole to want him ever back on the streets.”

“I know that Kilgrave controlled you for a while—”

“‘A while’? Try a whole damn _year_. Yeah, imagine that. A year of your life, just gone because some monster took it from you.”

Karen looked up at the ceiling for a moment. “The only thing that ever happened to me that compares was when I spent six months in a juvenile detention center, but that doesn’t even come close to Kilgrave. It was honestly the best part of my childhood. Six months without my parents.”

Jessica gave a low whistle. “You must’ve _hated_ them.”

“They hated me first. But, Kilgrave…reading the news articles about his victims, and the idea of losing your free will…” Karen’s face twisted at the memory. “And _you_ stopped him. So having you on my side…yeah. Not…right now. But let’s talk to Olmos.”

The problem with counseling, Karen didn’t want to tell her, was that even with insurance it could be expensive, and the money she would have spent on it she was handing over to Jessica. She wouldn’t deny that she needed to talk to someone, but that left her options limited. At least, if she wanted to talk about Frank and the impact he was having on her.

Work had always been a place where she could reignite her enthusiasm, but that was a bust now too. Ellison may not have meant to, but in placing her on desk work he’d stripped her of her sense of purpose. She spent her time making phone calls, double-checking sources, and fiddling with Angela’s files. Alonzo would pop in once in a while to ask her if she needed anything, but she’d smile and lie that she was fine.

After enduring an entire week of this listlessness, Karen decided to take a long shot. She had only one friend who knew a fraction of what she was dealing with. She knocked on Matt’s door the morning after Josie’s, trying not to get her hopes up that he’d be in. Fortunately he was.

“You didn’t call,” he said as he opened the door. By now Karen was getting used to Matt knowing she was there from the moment she entered the building.

“I wanted to talk face-to-face.”

“Did something bad happen?”

“No, just…that’s what friends do, Matt, sometimes they just want to talk.”

“Okay, then.” Matt moved to let her come in, and she noticed he was limping.

“Is that from the other night? With the Serbians?”

He pulled up his pant leg to reveal a splint. “It's only a fracture. I should be back to normal in another week or so.”

“How’ve you been otherwise?”

“Well, good and bad.” Matt shuffled over to a chair and sat down with a grunt of relief, rubbing at his injured leg. “Sandra Young’s children are going to live with her sister in Connecticut.”

“That’s great! I mean, I knew you could do it, you’re brilliant in a courtroom when you put actual effort into it.”

He smiled, but it faded quickly. “Meanwhile, though, the Hand is like chasing the wind. Smoke. I think I have a lead, something to go on, then it vanishes.”

“You have any help with that?” Karen was still standing, looking around at the ever-increasing number of papers pinned to walls, books stacked here and there, unwashed laundry in piles. “It seems as if everyone in New York is buzzing about the new ‘city defenders.’” That had been the headline the Bulletin had run with, though it had a question mark attached to the end for a veneer of impartiality.

“You mean Luke?”

“Luke’s the Harlem hero?”

“Hero for Hire, he calls himself. I’m not sure Luke is his real name, but that’s what he goes by now. Claire met him back when she was still working in Metro General, and now that she’s up in Harlem she’s been helping him a lot. She arranged for us to meet when I mentioned him. I didn’t think she’d be thrilled to be a go-between for vigilantes, but it turns out she’s almost excited that I’m considering working with someone else.”

“I know _I_ am. You can start up your own mini-Avengers. Hopefully with fewer of their problems.”

Matt scoffed. “That’s a little premature, don’t you think? It’s just me and Luke, and we’ve only worked together twice now. Besides, with the Hand…even with Claire backing up my story, he’s very much a see-it-to-believe-it kind of guy.”

“But at least you’ve got some common ground. You’re meeting other, what, enhanced individuals, I guess is the term? That has to be nice.”

“He’s a black man who went to jail for a crime he didn’t commit and was experimented on, that’s a whole different ballgame than me. But…” Matt furrowed his brow. “Yeah, it’s…the whole suddenly becoming different, stronger, wrestling with the responsibility of it…we do have that in common, I guess.”

“See?”

“We’re not exactly confidantes, Karen, he still wouldn’t say a word about what happened with Jessica Jones when I thought we could use an extra set of hands stopping Frank.”

“What…” Karen wavered. This was the reason she’d come over, to ask about Frank, but knowing Matt’s abilities she was suddenly concerned he might hear more than she wanted to tell. “What happened that night? It was a hellscape by the time I showed up.”

“Uh, more or less what your paper reported, actually. The mercs were having some kind of meeting inside the abandoned building, presumably orchestrated by Frank though I don’t know how, maybe he posed as a hirer. He drops a grenade in there, they come running out, he opens fire. The ones who get to the cars find bombs planted there. Then me and Luke show up to try to stop the massacre.”

“How did Frank get hurt?”

Matt paused. “That wasn’t in the papers.”

“I-It was something I overheard one of the mercs say on the scene, I guess they couldn’t corroborate it.”

“Karen...”

“Okay, _fine_ , he called me, I helped him stitch himself up, are you happy? Do I get no secrets from you?”

“If I could turn it off I would but I _can’t_. It may blow your mind but ninety percent of the time I _hate_ how much I can tell about people without them knowing. You think it’s fun being able to… _smell_ when friends and coworkers have had sex or diarrhea or chili dogs? God, it’s…” He grimaced. “It’s _unpleasant_ , to say the least.”

“I get it. But you still haven’t answered my question about Frank.”

“One of the guys, he must’ve only gotten his leg, when he and Luke started arguing, the guy knelt up and shanked him in the side. Frank retreated after that pretty quickly. Was it…bad?”

“Yeah,” Karen sighed. “It was pretty bad.” She leaned her back against the counter, rubbing her temples. “I had flashbacks to Daniel Fisher. Ellison thinks I should see a therapist, but I can’t afford it right now. And I don’t have anyone to talk to about all of this. Even you…I don’t think an ex is the best person to go to for life advice.”

“I’m not going to be objective, no.”

“Who do _you_ talk to about all of this? Anybody? Or do you just lock it all up?”

“Honestly? Father Lantom.”

“Your priest?”

“He’s been very helpful, and he doesn’t judge.”

“You’re not trying to convert me, are you?”

Matt laughed. “Oh no, you and Catholicism would make a _terrible_ match. But,” he shrugged, “it’s cheaper than therapy.”

Which was how Karen wound up on the steps of Matt’s church on a Saturday afternoon, looking up at the doors and wondering if this was really such a good idea. It was an old gothic building, nothing like the small church she’d grown up in, which was good, because if there’d been a resemblance she didn’t think she’d have been capable of entering it. But Ben and Grotto’s funerals had been positive experiences, probably her only ones connected to religion. If Matt recommended him, she was willing to give Father Lantom a chance.

Inside, he was at the front of the nave, in his vestments, doing something – performing mass? She wasn’t familiar with how Catholic ritual worked. There were a few people in the pews, all elderly, with their heads bowed and their rosaries out. Karen lurked in the narthex, browsing the leaflets on various charitable activities the church was involved in.

She heard people getting up to leave behind her, and stepped out of the way as the parishioners left. Father Lantom walked with them, shaking hands and chatting a little before they exited the church. After they were all gone, he started to remove the stole from around his neck, turning in Karen’s direction. When he saw her, he was startled. “Oh! I didn’t see you there.” He frowned. “Do I know you from somewhere?”

“I was at Grotto’s funeral. My name’s Karen Page, I’m one of Matt Murdock’s friends.”

“Ah, now I remember. What a sad event that was.” He folded up his stole. “What can I help you with today, Ms. Page? Something happier, I hope.”

“Matt suggested you as someone…confidential to talk to. As in, you can’t talk about anything I say in confession?”

“Are you Catholic?”

“No, my family’s church was some kind of Protestant, now I’m not anything in particular.”

“Well, I can’t give you the formal sacrament of confession and absolution if you’re not Catholic, but if you just want pastoral counseling, yes, that falls under the umbrella of privilege.” He gestured towards a door off the narthex. “My office is this way.”

It was a small, cozy room, and Karen took a chair, trying not to feel too anxious. Matt had sworn up and down that Lantom wasn’t the condemning type, and she supposed that there wouldn’t be anything keeping her from walking out if Matt turned out to be mistaken. The priest removed his cassock, revealing a shirt with clerical collar beneath.

“Would you like some coffee? I can even do espresso on this thing.”

“Plain black would be fine.”

“You and me both.” He walked over to the machine and started it running. “So, what can I help you with today?”

Karen folded her hands in her lap tightly. “Look, I should let you know that Matt told me that he’s told you about being Daredevil, so you don’t have to keep that a secret from me or anything.”

“Well, that’s good to know, Ms. Page, but I’m not allowed to tell you anything he divulged to me in confession.”

“There’s no exceptions?”

“Hmm, well, if someone threatens committing a serious crime to me, and I have reason to believe they will carry it out, I am allowed to report the danger so long as I don’t reveal who confessed it.”

“Matt breaks the law all the time, though.”

“Matthew…his situation is complicated. But if he had ever told me, for example, that he truly intended to kill Wilson Fisk? I would have felt obliged to warn the police that there had been a threat on Fisk’s life.” He poured two cups of coffee, handing her one and keeping the other for himself as he sat down across from her.

“Okay. Well, I’m sort of in a tricky situation here. And…look, I want you to know that…what I got growing up was that everybody is going to hell and the world will end soon and God basically hates me because I have a vagina and—oh, sorry.” She slapped a hand over her mouth.

Father Lantom chuckled. “I know the word. I’ve even seen them before.”

“Really?”

“Nothing scandalous. I helped deliver several babies on mission in Africa.”

“Oh. Okay. I guess what I’m saying is, religion is nice for weddings and funerals and I _do_ appreciate what you did for Grotto, but…I don’t believe in God anymore. I know you’re going to say that the vindictive monster my parents believed in isn’t the _real_ God, but looking around the world sometimes I think they were right, because if God was evil it would explain a lot about the way things are, and that’s really the only doubt I have about his nonexistence.” He hadn’t shown any reaction, which made her worry she was being rude. “I’m sorry, I know you don’t want to hear this…”

“No, I understand. You want me to know that you’re not interested in converting.” He sipped his coffee before continuing. “That’s fine. I will probably bring up theology because it’s my habit, but I promise it’ll be more to explain my way of thinking than to force my beliefs on you.”

“Thanks. All right.” Karen looked at her coffee for a moment, then took a deep breath. “You know about Frank Castle? The Punisher? Has Matt talked with you—oh wait, right, you can’t tell me. Well, anyway. I helped him during his trial. I was the only person he wanted to talk to, I never understood why, he just trusted me. Maybe because I cared so much about what happened to his family. Anyway…” She swallowed hard. “I’ve been working with him. For a few months now. He knows information about Wilson Fisk that I need if I want to keep him in jail. I know it’s not completely legal, and I know…he does horrible things. And I don’t think I dislike what he does as much as I should.”

Lantom simply nodded and let her take a long drink of coffee to wet her rapidly drying mouth.

“I don’t know why it is, but I want to help him. Not just with this investigation we’re working on, but…he’s lonely. We wind up talking about…things. His life, his family. _My_ life, I-I-I’ve told him things I’ve never told anyone because I want him to know me and because, I guess, I know he’ll accept it, he won’t think less of me. I want him…to have some tiny amount of happiness in his life, even though I know, I _know_ that at this point he doesn’t deserve it, that he doesn’t even _want_ it, but…I just _don’t know_.”

The priest waited until it was clear she was finished talking. “Well, to me, it sounds like you love him.”

“What?” That had not been what she’d expected him to say. “Don’t be ridiculous, I just said I know what he’s like, I-I-I’m not in _love_ with Frank Castle.”

“I didn’t say you were, I said you _loved_ him.” Lantom set down his coffee and crossed his arms, thinking. “Do you know why they have us study Greek and Hebrew in seminary? It’s not just to weed out the idiots, though it does help for that. There are all sorts of things that don’t translate perfectly into English. Did you know that there are at least four different Greek words for what we’d call ‘love’?”

“No, I didn’t. My dad was sort of the King James only type.”

“Christ, no wonder you left the faith.” He crossed himself for his blasphemy before continuing. “There’s _eros_ , which I suppose you could define as passionate or sexual love. But you also have _phileos_ , love between friends, and _storge_ , familial ties. Above all, there’s _agape_ , selfless love. When we talk about love being redemptive, we don’t mean romance or friendship or family, we mean _agape_. Love that is compassionate and forgiving.”

“That’s what you mean when you say I love him?”

“There’s probably some _phileos_ in there as well, but yes, that’s what I’m saying.”

Karen sniffed scornfully. “You’re giving me way too much credit, Father, I’m doing this for plenty of selfish reasons. He helps _me_ , gives me…support. And…trying to redeem him is me trying to redeem myself, too. For things I’ve done. Nothing as bad as what he’s done, but…I can see some of myself in him.”

“Being able to empathize with someone is the first step towards compassion. And if you’re not being perfect…no one is. _Agape_ is the love of God, his true nature. We aspire to it, we embody it in the world by our good deeds, but we’re mortal, and our mortality places limitations on us. We can never fully love like God does.”

“So what, I’m just supposed to hope that Frank finds Jesus and God will take care of all of it?” She couldn’t conceal the contempt in her voice at the absurdity of the idea.

“No, that’s not what I meant.” Lantom considered her for a moment. “You said you were raised Protestant, right? Well, one thing we Catholics have over you is our saints. Now, the official reason you pray to them is that they intercede for us with God, that they’ve got his ear better than we do since they’re closer to perfection. But for me, that can’t be all there is to it, or else why bother praying to God in the first place?” He waved a hand dismissively. “No, to me, they’re there to remind us that nobody is saved by the care of just _one_ person. I see too many people – women especially – come to my door thinking that they’ve got to carry the whole weight of saving a person on their shoulders. But you don’t _have_ to, Ms. Page. Nobody does.”

“He doesn’t have anyone—”

“You’re wrong. I promise you. I can’t break the vow of confessional, but believe me when I tell you that you are _not_ the only person in this city who cares about Frank Castle. You’re not the only person worrying for him. And because they come to me, I’m one of them too.”

She didn’t know what to say to that. Her mind slipped back to their conversation in the van. “…He thinks he’s going to hell.”

“Probably because right now, that’s precisely where he _is_. Hell isn’t just some threat to keep sinners in line, it’s something that exists here, in this world. The absence of hope and love. I’ve seen it plenty of times myself. And when you’re there it’s hard to imagine ever getting out.”

“I’ve been there before,” Karen said quietly.

Father Lantom gave a sad smile. “I guess what I’m getting at, Ms. Page, is whether or not you believe in God is up to you. But I _do_ want you to believe in love, in compassion, in gestures of pity and trust. Over time, added up, from many people, they have meaning. They have power. Even if they don’t seem to at first.”

She sighed. “So you think it’s okay if I keep helping him?”

He frowned. “That’s hard to say. A lot of it depends on whether you _are_ helping him, and especially if, in some way, he’s helping _you_. What’s important is that you know your own limits. Know your own weaknesses, your breaking point, and don’t push yourself past it. It’s okay to give yourself space to focus on your own needs. To get the support and love that _you_ need in order to show it to others. The rest of us will pick up where you leave off.”

Karen nodded too, absorbing it. Matt was right. He gave good advice.

“Anything else you wanted to talk about? Anything you need to get off your chest?”

She shifted uncomfortably. He wasn’t allowed to tell anyone, and she couldn’t bring this up with Matt… “Um, okay, I…kind of masturbate thinking about him. A lot. I know your church is really against that, but I’ve never had any problem with it, until now…”

 _That_ had made his eyes widen. He cleared his throat. “Well, there is some leeway for the idea of personal conscience. But if you’re feeling guilty about it, because, oh, say, you think he’d be upset by it? I’d advise you for your own psychological well-being to find some other way of…releasing tension. If you can.” He winced. “I’m not going to lie, I’ve never been good at giving advice on this _particular_ subject…”

“Not really tempted by it?” Karen smirked a little.

“Not really, no.” He picked up his coffee again, took a sip, and looked at her over the edge. “Although, with that bit of extra information, I think I’d also advise you to reconsider the possibility that, as bizarre as it seems, you _might_ be in love with him after all.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but there was something about having someone else say it that made pieces fall into place. A thousand objections died on her tongue and were replaced with, “I don’t _want_ to be in love with him.”

“I wouldn’t imagine so, no. I mean, he’s a child of God who deserves mercy but that doesn’t make him good boyfriend material.” The priest hesitated for a moment. “Does he…do you think he has the same feelings for you?”

Karen shook her head. “No. The way he talks about his wife…it’s been less than a year since his whole family was murdered in front of him…”

“That’s probably for the best, truthfully. I mean it when I say that you should make sure your own life is on solid ground before getting much further involved with someone as taxing as Frank Castle.”

As Karen got ready for bed that night, she was still ruminating on Father Lantom’s advice. What did _she_ need to keep from feeling as lost as she did now? Because let’s call it what it was, this exhaustion, this emptiness: depression. She was depressed, or at least heading that way. And substituting her old habits to get to sleep for her new one was not going to work. Keeping her alcoholic tendencies at bay was enough of a challenge when she was happy, and Karen knew that it would be worse if she started it now.

Instead she thought about the different kinds of love that he’d mentioned. A little bit of _phileos_ , a little bit of friendship. And if she _was_ in love with Frank – which she was finding it harder to deny might be the case – then it wasn’t only about sex. That was certainly there, most definitely, but she wanted his presence just as much. _So imagine Max in his bed at the end of the couch. Frank’s there, next to her, just sleeping. An arm thrown over her shoulder, maybe. So that she feels safe._ That worked. And if what his ally had said on the phone was true, he wouldn’t begrudge her this, right?

She woke up feeling more rested than she had since handling Frank’s injury, with a clear enough head to start making a list of things to do. Contact friends. That was the first one. She had Foggy, Matt, Jessica – Dwayne, possibly, if he was all right with being just friends. She had to stay in contact with the people she cared about.

More urgently, though, she needed a mission. She needed something to _do_. It was time to talk to Alonzo about what more she could do with the Reynard investigation. If Ellison was so convinced of the photographer’s skills, then maybe she should let him take the lead instead.

And, risk be damned, she had to talk to Steve Olmos. No more waiting, no more doubting herself. It was time to take the next step in stopping Fisk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not at all Catholic, but I have relatives and friends who are and are willing to listen to my pestersome questions. Father Lantom's comments here are based on conversations with them. Hopefully I represented them accurately.
> 
> Also, reading comics recently I was reminded that Marvel's version of Rikers is Rykers, however I can't remember if the MCU has made that official, so I'm sticking with what I started.


	12. You need to be in PI mode

Jessica didn’t come alone to their meetup point on Monday morning. The hat and large sunglasses probably helped conceal her from a distance, but up close it was obvious who she was. “Trish Walker?” Karen said with a bit of a starstruck gasp. “Wow! I’m a fan!”

“Of _Trish Talk_ or _It’s Patsy_?”

“ _Trish Talk_. My parents wouldn’t let me watch much TV at their house, so I only saw _It’s Patsy_ a few times growing up…”

“Oh thank God.” She turned to Jessica. “Can I keep her?”

“No.” Jessica seemed grumpier than usual. She jerked her head at Trish. “She likes to play superhero, that’s why she’s here.”

“Hey, I know Krav Maga, just because I don’t have powers doesn’t mean I won’t be useful in a pinch. I mean, Romanoff and that arrow guy are normals, and they still get to run around with Captain America.”

“Yeah, but—” Jessica began to say before Trish cut her off.

“—and I’ll bet they’ve been injured on the job, too. I’m a big girl, Jess, let me help again.”

Karen adjusted her bag on her shoulder, wondering if this was a conversation she should be involved in. “I am more than appreciative for as much support as I can get. So should we get going?”

Steve Olmos’ house was out in Queens, which mean several subway interchanges and a short walk. They debated on the way how to approach him – or rather, Trish and Jessica debated. Karen listened to the two of them jabber away and silently wished she’d had a sister too. For all that Jessica acted as if she resented Trish’s presence, her protests all circled around whether it was safe for her friend to be there.

“And besides, if we go in guns-a-blazing he could freak,” Jessica was saying as they exited the last subway. “He’s a security guard, he’s definitely got a gun somewhere. We only become bodyguards if talking our way in doesn’t work, okay? You need to be in PI mode.”

“Right!” Trish agreed, finally. She shimmied her shoulders. “PI mode, PI mode…”

“Ugh,” Jessica groaned with a roll of her eyes. “I am _so_ sorry for bringing her.”

Karen just smiled. “How about this? I go to the door while you two stay out of sight. I let him know who I am, if I can get in on my own that will work. If not, I signal you.”

“Secret hand sign?” Trish volunteered.

“Just wave us in. This isn’t covert ops or anything, we’re interviewing someone.”

The old rowhouse where Olmos lived was in a fairly nice neighborhood. There were steps leading up to the door and windows on every story looking out onto the street – or they would be, if they hadn’t all been blocked by heavy curtains, precisely as Jessica had said. She and Trish separated as planned, with Trish hanging a few doors down, pretending to look at flowers, and Jessica slinking in to crouch by the steps below the door. Karen marched up the front sidewalk to ring his doorbell.

There wasn’t an immediate reply. She knew it was his day off from Jessica’s reports, and given his recent behavior it wouldn’t make sense for him to be anywhere else. “Mr. Olmos?” she shouted through the door. She tried knocking, once, then twice, and on the second time she heard a voice from the other side.

“Who is it?”

“I’m Karen Page, from the New York Bulletin, we’re doing a survey.”

“I’m not interested.”

“Please, your help would be appreciated, and it won’t take up much of your time.”

There was a sound of the lock unlatching and the door cracked ajar, a chain holding it in place. She saw Mr. Olmos’ face peering through the gap. “I’m sorry, miss, you sound nice, but I’m not interested, so please go away.”

He was about to shut the door again, when Jessica leaped up, pushed Karen out of the way, and jammed a foot in the gap. “Look, mister, we need to talk. Do you want to do this the hard way or the easy way?”

“Jessica!” Karen exclaimed, shocked, but the PI was occupied with Olmos trying to kick her foot out of the way. She reached up, grabbed the chain on his door, and snapped it off with one hard tug.

Olmos’ eyes, still visible on the other side, widened with panic and he stumbled back as Jessica pushed the door open. “Oh God, please, no, I haven’t said anything to anyone, tell the Kingpin I’m keeping my mouth shut, please!”

“Shut up, we’re not with Fisk.” Jessica gestured for the other two women to come along and she strode into the house, grabbing Olmos’ arm and depositing him in the lazy-boy chair in his living room. “But we do want to talk about him. Or she does, anyway.”

“I was handling it,” Karen said, irritated.

“No, you weren’t. You were being too nice, he was going to shut you down.”

“We need him to cooperate, though…” Karen heaved a sigh and turned to the frightened guard. This was not the best way to begin an interview. “I’m sorry. We wouldn’t be doing this if we felt we had any other choice. You’re the only person from Rikers who seems to have escaped Fisk’s influence.”

The guard shook his head adamantly. “I’m not…you don’t know what he’ll _do_. He’s still got a few men loyal to him on the outside, everybody knows what happens to somebody who snitches on the Kingpin.”

“Is that what he’s calling himself?” Karen asked.

Trish walked in right then, closing the door behind her. Olmos’ eyes somehow got wider. “Patsy?”

She rolled her eyes harder than Jessica ever had. “More like the protection you need to talk about Wilson Fisk safely.”

He glanced back and forth between the three of them. “Her I can believe,” he said, pointing to Jessica. “But you’re a radio host and who are you?”

“Karen Page, from the Bulletin. I wasn’t lying about that.”

“I’m a story? I can’t…I don’t want my name in any paper.”

“If you turn evidence on Fisk, he’ll be out of your life for good.”

“Says _you_. I mean, I’d have to testify in a trial, right? He’ll know and then he’ll…” Olmos dropped his head into his hands. He was a stocky man, with a five o’clock shadow and thinning hair. He looked drained; his skin was sagging in places from lost weight.

“We can protect you,” Trish assured him again, but he shook his head once more.

“Not from him. Not from the Kingpin, I’ve seen what he does.”

Karen looked to Jessica, but the PI shrugged. “What about…” She bit her lip, thought hard, and rushed ahead.  “What about the man who put him away in the first place?”

“The Daredevil?”

“Yes. What if I could get _him_ to protect you?”

Olmos looked up at her, skepticism written across every inch of his face. “How could you possibly do that?”

“I know who he is.”

“What!?” Trish and Jessica blurted out in unison.

“I know who he is,” Karen repeated. “He’s saved my life before, and you know he can stop Fisk – the Kingpin.” She held up her phone. “I could call him for you.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I’ll do it.” She dialed Matt and crossed her fingers that he’d pick up.

“Karen?”

“I need you to pay a visit to a man named Steve Olmos tonight. He wants proof that you can offer him protection.”

“Is this about Fisk helping Frank escape?”

“Yeah. He’s my corroborating source. But only if he’ll talk to me.”

“All right. Send me the address later, I’ll see what I can do.”

“He lives in Queens, I should warn you.”

“Oh. Um, I’ll figure something out.”

“Thank you.” She hung up and stared Olmos down. “Do you want to wait until tomorrow, or are you willing to share a little now?”

He was blinking hard, clearly trying to decide if she was bluffing. At last he crossed his arms and settled back into the chair uncomfortably. “If – _if_ – you can get protection from the Daredevil, I _might_ have witnessed a few things at Rikers. I…might even have accepted some compensation to look the other way.”

“What happened?”

“Frank Castle showed up and everything went to shit is what happened. Fisk wanted us to lock him in with other prisoners, let him get shanked. I read about him in the papers, I figured the bastard deserved it, so it didn’t take much incentive to get me to play along. But then Castle _lives_ and suddenly my warden’s letting him go? What the hell, right?”

“It never occurred to you that Fisk might have a _reason_ for letting Castle loose in prison?” Trish asked him.

“I mean…” Olmos shrugged. “I thought he was doing it to save his own skin. The Punisher goes after criminals, and who’s one of the worst at Rikers? But after he left…Fisk was running the place. Everybody called him the Kingpin, he started wanting payment, to keep our secrets…” His face knit up in anxiety. “I just…I couldn’t do it, you know? A man’s got to have a code. There was an opening at my new place and I took it right away.” He licked his lips. “Only then…”

“He threatened you?” Karen wished she was taking all of this down.

“Look, I’ve already said too much. You manage to actually produce Daredevil, and I’ll let you know the rest. But you should know, whatever fortune he lost when he got arrested, he’s building it back up on the inside. If he gets out, we’re all screwed.”

“That’s what I’m hoping to prevent with your testimony. I won’t publish anything unless I have to, and I have friends in the police department who will make sure you get a deal.”

“Immunity?”

“Maybe. It depends on what you can give us and how smart you play this.”

Olmos nodded. “Okay. I guess maybe I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Karen fished a card with her number out of her bag. “Once you call me, get rid of this. It’s in both our best interests that Fisk not know I was here.”

As the three women went out, he pointed to his door and the broken chain.

“Hey, are you going to pay for this?”

“Only if you agree to squeal,” Jessica called back over her shoulder. Once all three of them were away from his house she rounded on Karen. “Do you know who Daredevil is? Or was that all a trick?”

“It’s the truth.”

“So when you were guessing about him having superpowers, I’m guessing that wasn’t a guess?”

“It’s not. He does. Please don’t make me say any more, he keeps his identity secret for a reason.”

“Wow, Jess,” Trish said in a stunned voice. “How many of you are out there? Here, in the city?”

“Like I would know,” Jessica muttered. “I work alone, so I don’t care about him, but while we’re getting things out in the open, you said Olmos is a _corroborating_ source? Who’s the other guy?”

Karen gave her a long look. “I…I think you’ve already figured that out.”

“Holy _shit_.” Jessica threw her hands up. “What the hell have I gotten myself into?” A woman walking on the street with her child gave her an appalled look, but the PI snapped, “He’ll hear worse by the time he’s ten!”

“I’m not following you guys.” Trish looked hopelessly confused.

“Frank Castle. It’s Frank Castle, she’s getting information from the Punisher!”

“Only the initial tip. When you’re a reporter, you can’t be too picky about this kind of thing.”

“The Punisher is a psychopath,” Trish reminded her.

“He’s very dangerous, but he’s _not_ a psychopath. And,” here she shrugged, “if you want me to choose between Frank Castle and Wilson Fisk, I’m going to go with the guy who _didn’t_ have an innocent old lady murdered just because she wouldn’t move out of an apartment. He’s…not going to be a witness, obviously, which is why I _desperately_ need Olmos here.”

“Fine, but I’m not helping him, _ever_.” Jessica shook her head in disbelief. “I swear if I even meet him, Karen, I don’t care about whatever deal you worked out, I’m bringing him in.”

“I respect that. I get it, I _want_ you to do what you believe is right.” She gulped hard. “But in the meantime, though, can we stay focused on Olmos? Frank was just a means of finding him.”

“Yeah. Great. Let me know what vigilante friend #1 says, we can meet up tomorrow.” Jessica turned to Trish. “You sure you want to stay involved in this?”

“Um, _yeah_. You need someone to watch your back, you’re not bulletproof. But I have some gigs scheduled for tomorrow, so depending on what time we can meet with him…”

The ride back to Manhattan was awkward and mostly quiet. Jessica still looked upset at Karen’s revelation, but Trish didn’t seem as bothered. Karen worried that meant Jessica was more upset by how long she’d kept it from her than her using a criminal as a source. But Trish talking up her program the next day – she was interviewing a rising indie music star – managed to bring a few smiles out of the PI by the time they reached their destinations.

Karen had only taken the morning off, claiming she needed it for her mental health, which made Ellison ask no questions. She spent the rest of her afternoon in the office, working feverishly on Angela’s files, more charged and driven than she’d been in a week. When Alonzo checked in on her, she didn’t bullshit him this time. “I have something.”

“Really?” The photographer had a spring in his step as he came in, closing the door behind him. “It has been _way_ too long, I get messages every day from Angela wanting to know if there’s progress.”

“Me too.” Karen pulled out a stack of papers. “Okay then, it’s sort of a mess, but Reynard was putting away payments in this offshore bank, right? And that’s supposed to make them impossible to trace, but then Angela obviously wondered how long the money _stayed_ in those banks. So she cast this big net, searching for anywhere that had payments about the same size coming _in_ right after Reynard’s money went _out_. It…was a _ton_ to go through, but I think I’ve sifted out something we can use. Exact same sum of money, always the day after Reynard deposits it.” She pulled out a paper and handed it to Alonzo.

“Grommet Industries? This is an obvious shell corporation.”

“Right. Based in Brooklyn. So we can scope it out.”

“It’s most likely a single room, one staff member, and nothing in the back.”

“What do you want to bet that staff member has a computer? And knows more than their bosses think they do?”

“Or they sit around and play Candy Crush all day.”

“Well, we won’t know until we check it out, will we?” She watched him, waiting for a response.

Alonzo was blank for a while, then cracked a huge grin. “See, I knew we thought alike. All right,” he scratched his head, “we gotta plan this out. You and me are going to be hella conspicuous, with the height and race difference. We can’t go in together. So…I go first, I scope out the place telephoto lens style. If they’re white, you go in. Otherwise, me.”

“That makes sense.” Listening to him talk strategy like this, she could see a bit of what Ellison had meant about Alonzo’s hidden depths. “How do we get them to talk without them knowing what we’re up to?”

“Cover stories. In my experience, mislabeled package delivery is a good bet. You go inside, make as big a fuss as you can about how they _have_ to sign for it, make sure your pen’s out of ink, make them go get one. All the while you get a good look at the place.”

“And then what? Start chatting them up about work?”

“Yeah. Complain about your job and how your supervisors messed up this order, get them to try to share stories. Now, chances are, they may clam up if they’re into something illegal. But if we’re lucky and whoever is manning this front isn’t the brightest bulb in the chandelier, they may spill a lot.”

“Okay, so, we’ll need a delivery costume, a van, a fake package--”

“Let me check it out first so we know which of us is getting the costume. Once that’s set it should only take a day or so to get everything ready.” He paused. “We’re _not_ telling Ellison about this ahead of time, I assume?”

“He’s the one who told me to follow your lead. But I guess he’ll find out if we try to claim any of the expenses…”

“We don’t have to do that until the end of the month, and we should have this done by the end of the week. By then maybe we’ll have something so good he won’t be able to complain about us going behind his back.”

On her way home from work, Karen called Matt with Olmos’ address.

“You could have texted me,” he told her. “My phone reads messages out loud.”

“I guess I never thought about that before, but it would sort of have to, wouldn’t it? Anyway, thank you for your help, from what he told us this could be everything we’ve hoped for.”

“I’m glad to hear it. And thank _you_ for trusting me to help keep him safe.”

“Stopping Fisk is something I know I can always count on you for. Also, you might want to pick up a burner or something for him to use, his phone lines _may_ be tapped.”

Once in her apartment, Karen did a quick sweep of her room, as was becoming her habit. She’d asked Stanley and Gertrude to report anyone suspicious to her, but while their observations skills were excellent, they’d also started badgering her about _what_ on earth was happening, sweetie? So far there had been no reappearance of bugging devices, to her relief, but that just made her wonder why no one had come by to retrieve them.

After that, it was routine as always – dinner, reading, bed. She was sound asleep when her phone ringing woke her. Karen sat up reluctantly, saw that it was two in the morning, and started cursing whoever it was that was calling. “Hello?” she grumbled.

“It was him.”

Karen was suddenly fully awake. Olmos.

“It was really him, he broke into my house and got me up…how do you know him?”

“It’s a very long story that I can’t tell you anyway. But do you believe that we can protect you now?”

“Yeah. Yeah, between him and that super strong lady you brought, I believe you. Look…I gotta work tomorrow. And I dunno, maybe the Kingpin’s already figured out I’m contacting you—”

“Nobody is tailing you at the moment, Mr. Olmos, he must think whatever threats he leveled against you are enough to keep you in line.”

“Well, so far, they have. If I make it through the day, come by after 6, that’s when my shift ends, okay?”

“Okay. We’ll be there.” Karen clasped her phone to her chest, a thrill of excitement running through her.

She couldn’t sleep for the rest of the night, and chugged as much black coffee the next morning to get herself through a day of work. Alonzo was out on other assignments for most of the day, saving his snooping for the few hours that he’d set aside as “personal projects” with Ellison. Karen occupied herself in the meantime with a few lighter articles – mostly the lead-up to the New York primaries; the candidates were all head-to-head in polls at the moment. As soon as Ellison poked his head in to remind her that her shift was over, she dashed to where she’d arranged to meet Jessica again.

The PI was alone this time. “She’s at a concert tonight.”

“It must be nice having that kind of event be research for work.”

“Yeah.” Jessica wasn’t making eye contact with her as they went to the subway. She kept sullenly silent for a long time, and Karen’s nerves tightened at every subway change. She finally decided she had to break the ice.

“Have I really disappointed you _that_ much by using… _him_ as a source?”

Jessica met her eyes for the first time, then scanned around the car they were in. It was fairly empty, but she kept her voice down anyway. “I’ve done shittier things trying to stop bad guys, so I’m not _judging_ you. But what I don’t get is how can you _trust_ him? The kind of shit he does, how can even know for sure he’s on your side?”

Karen thought for while, trying to come up with the most rational explanation. “He’s always been very straightforward about his motivations. Frustratingly so, to be honest. First it was revenge, now it’s killing criminals. And keeping bystanders out of the crossfire.”

“His one positive trait.”

“Yeah. But that also all makes him very…blunt. Genuine. He’s not manipulative, in fact he’s pretty manipulat _able_ , which is how Fisk got to him. So there’s that. And then there’s Andrew Vann. You know, the copycat? I asked him not to kill him, so that he could clear his name, because that’s not one of his motivators. And he did. Because he said he wanted me to trust him. That he was going to stick with his side of our bargain.”

“Which was?”

“No killing witnesses I need.”

“And what does he get in exchange?”

“A dogsitter.” When Jessica gave her an incredulous expression, she simply held out her hands. “I’m not making that up. Actually, you could add ‘loves dogs’ to his motivation too, it’s funny.”

“If you’re into black comedy, sure.” Jessica leaned back in her seat. “You’re weird, you know that, right?”

“I suppose I am. But…I need him. And he needs me, and it works as a business relationship.”

“I guess I know why you’ve been stressed lately. That’s quite the beast you have on a leash.”

“I don’t know if I’d use _that_ metaphor. But I don’t know what would be better either.” _A black hole I’m in danger of getting sucked into but can’t completely escape, so I’m trying to get myself in a stable orbit?_ No, that metaphor required the idea of _attraction_ , which she didn’t want to share. “I can’t really explain what it is we’ve worked out, but it _is_ working, at least right at the moment. Can you trust me on that?”

The PI scowled. “I sort of have to.” The car lurched as they came to their final stop. “But yeah, like you said, right now we’ve got to focus on Olmos.”

He let them in wordlessly when Karen rang his doorbell. They both took a seat, Karen turning on her recorder, while Olmos twisted his hands together anxiously, pacing back and forth. “All right, first thing you have to understand is, I’m not a bad guy. Really. I’m not. It was a stupid mistake. Like I said, I was mostly hoping Castle would get killed because I hated what he’d done. That was wrong, I know, I’m a guard not an executioner, but after he killed so many people…”

“I totally sympathize, but that’s not why we’re here,” Jessica said. “What did you get offered for turning a blind eye?”

He stopped his pacing and gave a sad laugh. “This place,” he said, gesturing around. “The Kingpin was in real estate, he gave me a link to one of his old business partners on the outside who wasn’t dirty enough to get put away. I’d been trying to find a house, a real _house_ , for months, and then I get a tip on this place, for a price that’s within my means, where they need to sell _right now_? Yeah, I took it. I mean, it didn’t even feel like a bribe, you know, just some help.”

“But then you changed your mind,” Karen prodded him gently.

“Yeah. Yeah, because he let Castle out. At first I thought my warden had lost his mind, but all the talk with the other guards was that Fisk had arranged it. I never learned why, I mean, there are more opportunities to get rid of him on the inside, right? So that made me freak a bit. Then things started getting worse and worse. Every day it was something else. Somebody gets injured and we aren’t investigating it, I’m being ordered to look the other way on contraband.” He shook his head. “He runs that place now.”

Karen nodded. “What was the final straw?”

Olmos folded his arms tightly across his chest. “So, after the Castle incident, nobody demanded anything of _me_ specifically. I had my house, that was all great. But then I got a request to…” He closed his eyes for a moment. “He wanted a group of us to beat up a prisoner for him.”

“Did he ask you _directly_?”

“No, he went through Finney, that’s this white collar criminal he has as his right-hand man. Everybody else agreed right away. I stalled as long as I could. Started searching for other jobs. When the deadline came down, I said I’d love to, but I was about to transfer.” He leaned against the wall, and covered his face with a hand.

“It’s okay.” Karen leaned forward in her chair.

“No it’s not!” he shouted, then grimaced apologetically. “You know why I wanted a house? I was gonna propose to my girlfriend. Yeah. The one I had to dump. We were gonna get married and have kids here and…” Olmos held back a sob. “The day after I transferred, I got a letter in the mail. No return address in the corner. Inside they had…pictures. Of her apartment building, of her job, of her out on walks. And there was a typed letter, with a very, _very_ detailed description of exactly what would happen to her if I ever talked about what went on in that prison.”

Karen shuddered. She glanced over at Jessica, whose hands had tightened into white-knuckled fists. “Please tell me you kept that letter,” the PI said.

Olmos nodded and went upstairs for about a minute. When he came down, he was holding an envelope in his hand. “I keep it locked up. You…you really don’t want to read it.”

Karen held out her hand anyway. She opened it, saw the photos of his girlfriend and began to read the letter inside. He was right, she didn’t want to. She could barely get past the first sentence before she wanted to vomit. She handed it back. “Christ, that’s horrible.”

“That’s why…I need protection for her, too. I need to get her out of the city, as far away as possible.”

“Does she have any family or friends somewhere else?”

“Nah, she’s a lifelong New Yorker. Not like me, I’m from Chicago…But there’s, like, witness protection programs and things, right? We could go into it together?” The desperation in his voice was heartbreaking.

“Well, she’s still not over you. And I didn’t see anyone following her.” Jessica rose to her feet and walked over to Olmos. “Hey, I get that you’re scared as hell of this guy because of the power he had over you in Rikers, but from everything I’ve been looking into around _you_ , he’s still limited in what he’s capable of out here. I’m not saying you’re safe, but I think this is something we can manage.”

“Do you want me to bring any of this to the police?” Karen asked, holding up her recorder.

Olmos faltered, his gaze falling to the floor. “I just…the risk involved…”

“Do you want Daredevil to take it to the police?”

That brought his eyes back up. “That might work. Are he and the police tight?”

“I know there are some cops who are sympathetic to him.”

“Well, have him ask, like, what they’d be willing to do for somebody with my information. Protection, immunity, that stuff.”

Karen nodded again and stood up, turning off her recorder. “Thank you for entrusting all of this to us, Mr. Olmos. I know you regret what you did, but this is going to go a long ways towards fixing that.”

As she and Jessica began their trek back to the subway, the PI turned to her. “I know I’ve bitched a lot during this whole process, but I am actually glad to be involved with this. I mean, _fuck_ Fisk.”

“No kidding.”

“And tell your Daredevil pal that if he needs any help watching Olmos I am _so_ on board.”


	13. You got a name?

“You ready?” Alonzo asked her.

“No,” Karen answered, honestly. “You know I’m bad about showing my emotions.”

“That’s why you’ve gotta use them as part of the act. You’re nervous because your boss is riding you lately, and you gotta do this job right, okay? If she stonewalls you, and you get frustrated, that’s in character, too. I swear, they need to give you reporters acting lessons if you’re going to go undercover.”

“Well, maybe Ellison would’ve, if he knew what we were up to.” Karen looked down at the fake package, marked from GardenHouse Paper Supplies, delivering a bulk order of file folders. “GardenHouse,” the name on the side of the van, was actually a furniture store that Alonzo’s cousin worked at out in Jersey. He’d let them borrow the van for the day when Alonzo had told him it was important. “You know a lot about acting for a photographer.”

“I was in drama school back in the day. Photography was just a hobby until Egypt and Morsi going down. I’ll tell you all about it some other time. But right now you need to go in there and talk to this chick so we can get the van back before Benny’s boss notices it’s gone.”

Karen nodded and hefted the package under her shoulder. The delivery costume she was wearing was too big for her – she’d gone into a man’s size to find something tall enough – but the belt cinched around her waist at least made sure it didn’t fall off. With one last look at Alonzo, she got out of the car and marched up to Grommet Industries.

It was a tiny storefront in a still deteriorating part of Brooklyn. This was far from the quirky neighborhoods that the borough was becoming known for; half the storefronts were either for lease or in the process of new businesses starting. Still, it was a step up from Hell’s Kitchen, to be sure. Grommet Industries, with its small but brand-new sign fit in perfectly, unremarkably, a nice cover for someone to launder dirty money.

A bell jangled as she walked inside, and behind the counter she saw the woman Alonzo had described to her. “Red-haired hipster lady” had been his summation of her, and he wasn’t wrong. She was young, maybe only twenty, in a retro outfit with multiple ear piercings, and she looked bored out of her mind until Karen stepped in. A little name tag on her blouse read “Amelia.”

“Hi, how can I help you?”

“I’ve got a delivery for you from GardenHouse Paper Supplies. I’ll need you to sign.” Karen set the package down on the counter, and pulled out a forged delivery form fastened to a clipboard.

“Um, I don’t think we ordered anything. I keep the books here, and I’d know.” Her voice was nasal and at the moment patronizing.

“Well, sorry, it’s labeled for you, so I need to deliver it.” Karen set down the clipboard on top of the package with the dried-out pen Stantacki had provided her (he was a self-confessed hoarder, only throwing things out in his annual spring cleanings).

“I’m not _signing_ for something we didn’t _order_.”

Karen clasped her hands in front of her to conceal her shakiness. “Look, I really need you to do this, I didn’t get a signature last week, and my boss i-i-is this close to letting me go, he’s a real jerk. If you’d sign it, you can have your bosses call him, chew him out for me.”

Amelia looked skeptical, but Karen’s unforced stammer seemed to have sold it. She took up the pen and clipboard and tried to sign, only to give an irritable huff when it didn’t work. “I don’t suppose you have another, do you?”

She made a show of patting her pockets. “Not on me.”

“Okay, just a second.” The other woman hopped up and turned her back on Karen to rummage through drawers along the wall behind her. Karen took advantage of the distraction to lean over the counter and take a look at the computer screen Amelia had been tinkering with. Alonzo had guessed right. Candy Crush.

“Got it!” Amelia announced, pulling out a pen and returning to the counter. Karen used her signing to look around the place. Some drawers, the computer, and a door to a back room that she’d love to be able to get into. The walls were blank save for a single faded motivational poster in a cheap frame.

“Thank you so much, this is probably going to save my job.” She picked up the clipboard and looked around. “I guess you don’t do a lot of paperwork here?”

“It’s all digital. We’re _very_ green.”

Karen was panicking a little. She hadn’t gotten anything out of Amelia and the venture was starting to feel like a waste. “Well, thanks again,” she repeated. “You know how bosses can be.”

“Ugh, _tell_ me about it,” Amelia said with a dramatic roll of her eyes. “I’ll bet you anything yours is nicer than mine.”

“Really? I doubt that.”

“He never shows up here except to dump me with a ton of files to input and then lecture me on protecting our company’s privacy. Like we’re doing something illegal.”

“What _do_ you do here? N-n-not that I want you to break any trade secrets, but…”

“We’re actually super cool, for real.” Amelia had perked up. Karen’s heart leaped. They were lucky, they had a dim one – or maybe just very gullible. “We help out this medical company with all their tax stuff. Like, the government would be charging them _so_ much money and all they do is make medicine and stuff. Shouldn’t they only do that to oil companies or Walmart or other parasites?”

“That makes total sense.” Okay, so she was liberal. Good for her, but that meant Karen knew how to play her. “And then they spend all our taxes on the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan.”

“Exactly, it’s so dumb!” Amelia was beaming now, certain she’d found a kindred spirit.

Karen made a show of leaving the building, then turned back. “Hey, what’s the name of that medical company? If you can’t give it to me, that’s fine, but it sounds like an organization I’d like to support.”

“Something super Japanese. Asimo…wait, not that’s the robot.” She snapped her fingers. “Asano! That’s it. Asano Medical Subsidiaries.”

“Nice.” Karen held up her clipboard. “Well, thank you, again, I guess, for putting up with this confusion.”

“Uh yeah, thanks for interrupting my boring day! Just, you know, don’t tell my boss about this, he’s _so_ paranoid.”

Karen felt a stab of guilt. She made a mental note to warn the woman if their story got published. She’d need to start looking for a new job right away.

She met Alonzo back at the van. “You got a name?”

“Yes, though it might be another shell, I’m googling it right now.”

“She gave it up that easy?”

“She was hopelessly naïve. I don’t think she has a clue what her company actually does.”

“Hey, good job, Page. I was wondering for a second there if you were going to freak out and blow it.” He started up the van and they began to drive it back to Jersey.

Unexpectedly, Asano came up with an immediate hit. A _lot_ of hits, actually. “Wow, this is…this is a real company. It was owned by the Roxxon Corporation, they sold it off late last year.”

“Roxxon?” Alonzo’s eyebrows went up. “That’s a big deal, they’ve got their fingers in everything. But why would he be _giving_ them money? They’re usually who politicians get money _from_.”

“Looking at the dates on these business articles, Asano was sold right before he started sending the money…” Karen scrolled down through her hits, trying to decipher the business-speak, until she came to a headline that made her blood run cold and her breath catch in her throat.

 

> Asano Stock Takes a Dive After Natchios Trust Divests

_Natchios_. She read the article. Kostas Natchios had been a businessman and a retired Greek ambassador, and he left a large sum of money invested in various Roxxon endeavors at the time of his deaths. Apparently the board set up to manage his trust had continued the investment until last fall, when they had suddenly pulled out all their money from Asano Medical Subsidiaries, which was the major Japanese branch of Roxxon. The branch nearly went bankrupt in the process, and Roxxon had dropped it like so much old garbage.

But that _name_. It was a coincidence, it had to be.

Alonzo noticed her frozen expression. “You find something?”

“Hold on.” She hit Wikipedia. Everyone had an article on Wikipedia if they were in the government, right? Kostas Natchios. There you go, Greek ambassador, very short bio. There was a longer one in Greek listed on the side that she ran through Google translate. It was a garbled mess, but it did list his family, at least. His wife had passed away shortly after him, leaving one daughter. Adopted.

A daughter named Elektra.

Karen’s heart was racing. From what Matt had told her, Elektra had died right after that divestment, and she’d been working with him to fight the yakuza for weeks beforehand. Which meant Asano was probably sketchy as hell, tied in to the Japanese mob…or worse.

“Okay. Alonzo, this case just got a _lot_ bigger than we ever anticipated.”

“You want to tell me what’s going on?”

“Not…not yet. I need to run this by Angela and get corroboration on a…very sketchy rumor I heard. But Reynard was – maybe still is – giving money to a criminal organization.”

Alonzo gave a low whistle. “They blackmailing him?”

“Maybe, I don’t know. Do you know how I can get in touch with Angela, in person, without Ellison knowing?”

He nodded. “Yeah, I know just the thing.”

The immunization drive was that Saturday, in a school gym up in Harlem, where Angela lived. Harlem was at least semi-gentrified now, but Angela’s family was upper middle class enough to afford a place there. She was working as a volunteer, handling the lines and filing people off to the makeshift cubicles that the nurses had set up behind her.

Karen waited in a short line at Angela’s table until it was her turn. Angela gave her the insurance paperwork to fill out, and leaned in close. “You said in your email you had something big?”

“Your strategy for following the money worked. We found this place called Grommet Industries and I got the staff there to talk to me.”

“Nice work.”

“Alonzo walked me through it. Anyway. They’re laundering money for a supposed medical company that used to be owned by the Roxxon Corporation. Asano – the company – used to get most of their money from a trust left behind by a former Greek ambassador and businessman. I…know his daughter by reputation, and I know she was suspicious that her father had gotten himself involved with a mob front of some kind, so she pulled them out, and Roxxon dropped it. It’s been independently run ever since.”

“Which left a criminal organization without a major stream of income.” Angela frowned. “But why was Reynard involved with them?”

“I have no idea, but I think that’s why he turned aggressive with us.” Karen looked over her shoulder at the people waiting behind her. “Should we talk to Ellison about this?”

“He’ll throw a fit that you did this behind his back, but there’s no way he’ll turn down the story. And tell him I’ve had enough vacation time, I want back in.” She took the paperwork from Karen. “I don’t suppose you actually need to update your immunizations?”

“I got my tetanus two years ago, and the HPV thing when that became a big deal, so I think I’m up to date. Do you do this kind of thing often?”

Angela sighed. “I have had to put up with so many anti-vaxers telling me I poisoned my son, gave him brain damage, because God forbid I keep him safe from measles. They’ve done it to my face, in front of him. I do this every damn chance I can get just to spite them.”

Karen smiled. “Good for you.” She got up and was ready to walk out when one of the nurses walked up, a gorgeous woman with black hair cropped at her shoulders. She waved to Angela as she approached.

“How’d things go on my break?”

“We’re a little backed up.” Karen didn’t want to eavesdrop, but her eyes had caught sight of the ID on a lanyard around the nurse’s neck. It read _Claire Temple, Harlem Night Clinic_. And what’s more, Karen could swear she’d seen her face before.

Finally it came to her. “You were the nurse who helped us!” she blurted out. “At Metro General!”

The nurse, Claire, blinked at her. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember every patient.”

“I-It was the night of the Russian bombings, my friend was bleeding through the gut.”

“Yeah, I _really_ don’t remember anything from that night. I had a lot on my mind.” Claire was beginning to walk away, but Karen followed her.

“Was it…was it because you were busy helping someone else? Someone who was…also very busy that night?” She gnawed her lip, hoping she’d made the right guess.

Claire gaped at her a moment, then heaved a sigh of exasperation and pulled Karen behind one of the divider walls. “All right, what’s your deal?” she demanded. “Super speed? Invisibility?”

Karen was baffled. “What?”

“Hey, I’ve had super senses, super strength, super strength _and_ impenetrable skin, and as of this week magical Chinese dragon powers, so I consider myself fully ready for anything.”

“Oh, I’m…I’m not…I’m just Matt’s ex.”

“Ah. Well, nice to meet another member of that club.” She folded her arms across her chest. “I take it you know about his powers? And his night job?”

“He told me, yeah. And I know about two of the others you mentioned, but ‘magical Chinese dragon powers’?”

“So he says. Luke brought him in. I didn’t mean my specialty area to become superpowers, but that’s kind of what happened. Do you _want_ something, or is this a social call?”

“I’m a reporter—” Karen began.

“Doctor-patient confidentiality,” Claire reminded her.

“I…I’m not reporting on _them_. It’s something Matt told me that I want you to confirm for me. Something I _may_ have recently discovered is related to a story I’m investigating.” She took a deep breath. “What do you know about the Hand?”

Claire’s face went ashen. “I don’t want to talk about that.”

“Please, you’re the only other person I know who knows about this.”

She held up her hands. “No! I’ve got _nothing_ but awful memories tied to those freaks. I saw a good friend get killed right in front of me, and when I shoved one of them out the window, turns out he’d been dead for a while but was still running around.”

Karen shuddered. “So he wasn’t lying about the undead part.”

“No. And if I were you, I’d stay as far away from this as possible, just like I have.”

“Is there anyone else I can ask about this? Anyone from back at Metro General?”

“I doubt it. They received a very big donation when I tried to raise a stink about it. Hush money. It’s why I quit.”

“Okay, well, that’s a start, at least. I can see if this corporation I’m looking into made that donation. Following the money has gotten us pretty good results this far.” Karen cleared her throat. “I’m sorry to make you relive all of that, I know what trauma can be like.”

The nurse shrugged. “It’s…I’m dealing with it. My life’s been a mess since I found Matt in that dumpster, but I know it could be a lot worse. Besides, I’m the one who decided to pull him out and help him, so at least some of it’s on me.”

“Thank you. For helping me too.” Karen adjusted her bag. “So…how did you and Matt break up?”

That made Claire’s face relax into a sad smile. “I ended it. He’s a good guy, don’t get me wrong, but I couldn’t handle the drama. I could date Matt, but not the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen.”

“Was that…like, when?”

“Um, right before you three took Fisk down, I guess.”

“Okay.” Karen nodded to herself. “So before he dated me. Actually,” she laughed dryly, “right before he started showing _interest_ in me. God, I have _always_ been his second choice, haven’t I?”

Claire furrowed her brow. “How did _you_ two break up?”

“He lied to me, hid most of his life from me, got involved with an ex-girlfriend. Not that…not that I was much better. I lied to him about a lot of things too, kept a lot of secrets.” _Most of which I’m still keeping_ , she thought.

“Sounds like a nightmare.”

“No kidding.” Karen looked around. “I guess I should let you get back to work.”

“Yeah. Maybe I’ll see you around. We’ve got mutual friends, after all.”

Angela gave her a concerned look as she left the drive. Karen barely noticed; she was still trying to absorb everything. What Matt had told her was true, at least about the Hand being able to come back from the dead, somehow. Whether the demon part of the story was real, she had no idea, but even Matt had considered that dubious. She wondered whether he’d come up with anything new on that front. She wondered if he’d found Elektra.

She wondered whether, if he did, he’d forget about her completely.

But right now she had bigger things to worry about. She was working tomorrow afternoon, and she’d have to tell Ellison about the story, break it to him in the gentlest way possible. Remind him that he’d told her to trust Alonzo…wait, no, that was shifting the blame, and she didn’t want to get the photographer fired. Better to remind him that he knew when he hired her that she was from the Ben Urich school of reporting, the one where you followed a story no matter where it led you. No matter what the risk.

Karen knew she had to tell Matt, if for no other reason than he’d need to know she was about to kick the same hornet’s nest he was. But maybe he could protect her, too. Though she had other resources she could rely on for that…

She shook her head. No, get rid of that thought. She wasn’t going to call in Frank on this. He’d jump at the chance to try mowing down zombie armies. He’d been there that night on the rooftop, after all. But his methods lacked any subtlety and that seemed important at this stage in the game, at least if she wanted to keep the innocent people involved safe.

Her phone buzzed and she saw a text message from Dwayne. She’d made an effort to leave replies on his Facebook posts this week as part of her commitment to building friendships, so it didn’t surprise her to hear from him.

>Hey I’m so bored, you up for Ming’s tonight?

Good timing. Karen badly needed an evening where she could ignore the state of her life, and Dwayne had made it clear he wasn’t going to push her into dating. She started to type back a yes, but then she remembered what day it was. She was going to meet Foggy’s at Farrington that evening, and she’d almost completely forgotten about it.

>Sorry previous commitment. Meeting another friend.

An immediate reply back.

>Friend or more than friend? I won’t be jealous

>No, just a friend. I’ll see you at book group in a few days, maybe Ming’s after that?

>Sure

Karen was about to pocket her phone when it rang. She saw that it was from Dwayne, and answered. “Something else you needed to tell me?”

“Look, okay, I’m _very_ bad at this, but when I’m asking you out here, I’m asking you _out_. As in, I think you’re kind of awesome and would make a fantastic girlfriend. But,” he added quickly, “I’m totally okay with you saying no! I’m not one of those creeps who complains about being friends-zoned or whatever.”

Karen shifted uncomfortably. This was going to hurt them both. “I’m sorry, Dwayne, my life is kind of a disaster, and I need _friends_. You’re a great guy and I would recommend you to anyone I know, but…you don’t want to be involved with me right now. Or maybe ever. I’m more complicated than I let on at our first date.”

“Right.” He sounded disappointed, unsurprisingly. “I get it, and I respect that.” She could hear him gulp. “There’s…there’s not somebody else, is there? Oh, crap, that shouldn’t even matter, I shouldn’t ask—”

“No, it’s fine. There…I’m…” Her stomach tightened into a knot. “Yes, there  _is_ someone else. But it’s not mutual. And there is _way_ more to what’s bothering me than just that, it’s work, I’m involved in some heavy stories. You’ll be reading about one of them pretty soon, I think.”

“Gotcha. Okay, well, I’ll see you at club. Enjoy your evening out. And…good luck with the other guy. Though if he doesn’t like you back, he’s an idiot and doesn’t deserve you.”

Karen stood in the middle of the street after she’d hung up, ignoring the puzzled looks of passersby. Did he _like_ her? Of course Frank _liked_ her, he always had, even back during his trial. But that wasn’t how Dwayne had meant it. He meant it the way middle schoolers do while passing notes around class and giggling about their first crushes. That, more than anything, was why she knew Dwayne and she wouldn’t work out. He was about the same age as her, much better educated, but he felt so much younger.

To revert to middle school, though, _did_ she like him that way? It had sounded true when Father Lamtom had said it, but Karen still fought the idea whenever it arose. Being in love in the past had always been like a clear, sunny day, the beautiful perfection before the storms of actually being together invariably hit. You weren’t supposed to be unhappily in love until the relationship was underway. Meanwhile she was already _in_ a storm, and Frank merely seemed like a part of it. A part she valued a great deal at this point, that sometimes gave her comfort, but also buffeted her about and left her exhausted. If this was being in love, then it was a kind of love she wasn’t used to.

Karen almost laughed as she started walking. A storm, a black hole, a buoy - how many metaphors was she going to come up with before she admitted she couldn’t rationalize Frank, or her confused mix of feelings about him? Both were a mess of contradictions.

Well. She should forget about it for right now. Practice how she was going to break things to Ellison instead, and get ready to meet Foggy tonight.

And decide how much she wanted to let her friend in on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I did just slightly alter the end of this chapter. Like I said at the outset, "never satisfied." I will always make a note if I do this, though.


	14. This isn’t just a business relationship anymore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you ever write something, read it, say "nope," and have to re-write the entire thing. That was most of this chapter, hence the long delay. On the plus side I already have a chunk of upcoming content finished so hopefully I can get back to my former pace.

Karen waited half an hour at Farrington before deciding that something had to be wrong; Foggy was never more than ten minutes late to their meetings. H, C, & B wasn’t far from the bar, so after some consideration she went to check whether he was still at work.

The firm was largely empty this late in the evening. Karen went to the receptionist’s desk, but they’d apparently gone home for the day, leaving the space abandoned. Karen decided that meant it was perfectly acceptable for her to slip past into the office area. After all, there weren’t any signs posted saying she _couldn’t_ , right?

Most of the lights were off, but the open windows and skylights let in enough illumination from the outside to give everything an eerily twilight look. She searched the vacant areas until she heard raised voices coming from the second floor. Taking the flight of stairs, she realized whoever was shouting was in the office marked Jeri Hogarth. Bright light beamed out through the cracks in the door and blinds. As she got closer, Karen could clearly hear that one of them was Foggy. She couldn’t make out the words, though, and hesitated before knocking. It was a horrible invasion of privacy, but there was something about the heatedness of the argument that started to get the best of her curiosity. She’d only meant to get a little closer to the door, but soon Karen had her ear pressed right against it.

 “We _can’t_ defend him, Hogarth!” Foggy was yelling.

“You’re the one who…” his boss’s chilly voice dipped too quiet for a few seconds, “…every time someone brings up the Punisher.”

“Yeah, but there at least he was the victim of a cover-up and needed psychiatric help! If you decide to defend him, partnership be damned, I will _walk_.”

“Think about it, Jeri,” she heard another voice, and recognized it as Marci. She must have been standing nearer to the door, because Karen could make her out fine. “Would you have defended Kilgrave, after everything he put you through?”

There was no reply from Hogarth.

“Besides,” Marci went on, “we’ve _just_ started recovering our good image again, this would ruin us.”

“I didn’t say we would take it,” Hogarth said, quietly enough Karen had to strain to hear her. “But we…” Damn, no luck hearing what she said next. “That’s why I wanted to ask the two of you, since you were both so closely involved. If that’s what you think, I’ll support you to Chao and Benowitz.”

“Thank God!” Foggy said, but then everyone lowered their voices and eavesdropping became as futile as it was bad-mannered. Karen stepped back and knocked on the door.

It was Hogarth who opened it, and she gave Karen a suspicious look when she saw her. “Can I help you? We’re closed for the night.”

“I’m here to pick up F—Nelson, actually.” She peered at Foggy over his boss’s shoulder.

“Oh?” Hogarth turned back to him. “I thought that you—”

“She’s a friend from my old firm!” Foggy jumped in quickly. “We still meet up for drinks sometimes. Um,” and here he looked at Marci, “she’s cool with it.”

“Yeah, his adorable crush never amounted to anything.” She gave Foggy a peck on the cheek, then strolled toward the door, brushing past Hogarth and giving Karen a slight smirk. It dawned on Karen that if Foggy and Marci were this public in front of his boss…

Foggy was blushing a little as all three of them got into an elevator together heading down to the main lobby. “So…” Karen began awkwardly. “Are you two official now?”

“Well, we haven’t signed any paperwork.” Marci was definitely smirking now.

“Yes, we are a thing now. A dating thing. And I let her know that this only happened because of your persistent prompting.”

“That’s exciting.”

“Not really,” Marci said with a shake of her bleach-blonde hair. “I could have told him we were an item two months ago, but Foggy Bear can be _very_ slow to get a hint.”

Karen grinned at Foggy and he shrugged bashfully. “I’m still getting used to it, honestly.”

“Don’t worry, I already agreed that we are never meeting each others’ families or anything, no matter how serious it gets.” She turned to Karen. “I mean, mine are _complete_ trash, why would I inflict that on him?

“Foggy’s family’s nice. They thought I was his girlfriend when I met them, though.”

“Oh, I bet they’re sweet as can be to have produced _him_ , but that doesn’t mean I want to _meet_ them. Ugh, how _awkward_.” She made a face. “Let me guess, they were all over the two of you asking questions and acting like you were bound to get married?”

“A little bit at first…” Karen admitted.

Marci shuddered. “Unbearable. But better than mine would be. My sister’s on her fifth kid, and the last time I was dumb enough to let them meet someone I was dating I got a reminder of how old my eggs are getting _again_ , as if it’s some crime to not have children by the time you’re thirty.”

The elevator doors dinged open. “Marci,” Foggy said as they exited, “as much as I enjoy hearing you crap on your family, I don’t think Karen’s as interested. For starters, I’ve heard some of her stories and they’d beat yours any day.”

“Hmm?” Marci arched a brow at her. “The mousy secretary has a dark secret back story? Fascinating. I’ll have to ply it out of you sometime. Meanwhile, though, you keep him company for the evening while I do actual lawyer-work.” She blew him a kiss before she flounced out. “Bye babe.”

By the time they reached Farrington, Foggy’s sheepish expression had deepened. “I’m sorry you had to find out that way, I was planning on telling you this evening.”

“I’m not jealous of Marci.”

“I know, but here I am, getting a girlfriend and I still haven’t found anyone to set you up with! Bros before hos, Karen!”

She laughed. “I’m your bro?”

“My bro with ovaries, yes! Just don’t ever tell Marci I implied she was a ho, she will kick my ass.”

“So, are things going well for you otherwise? Going to get that partnership?”

“Uh, as of the end of next month, yes. Hopefully it’ll get me a little more say in how things are run over there.” The bitterness in his tone made Karen desperately want to ask about the argument, but eavesdropping was bad and she’d been bad to do it. “What about you?” Foggy asked, not noticing her guilty expression.

“Very, _very_ busy. I actually have something I need to talk to you about.”

“Oh? Does Foggy Nelson gets to play hero and come to your rescue?”

“I’m afraid not. It’s more like…a warning? You said Matt told you a little about what he and…Elektra were involved with, right?”

Foggy groaned. “Can we talk about literally _anything_ else?”

“No! Look, I-I-I wouldn’t be bring this up if it weren’t important.”

“Okay, fine, yes, he did, he said that he and Elektra were investigating someone that the yakuza were working with. I didn’t believe him then, but you seemed convinced after he told you.”

“Well, I _was_ the one who got abducted by them…”

“Matt would come up with any excuse to get back with—” He stopped himself.

“I know. I can hear it in how he talks about her.”

“And I saw the effect she had on him back at Columbia. She was a drug he couldn’t quit.”

 _Or maybe he really does love her_ , she thought. “Well, he wasn’t lying. The yakuza _were_ – or are, I’m not clear yet – up to something big. And I found out this week that the Reynard case I’ve been investigating? It’s probably connected.”

“You want me to get prepped to defend you on a libel case when you publish it?”

“That might be helpful, truthfully…” Karen paused. “But that’s not what worries me. It’s _who_ the yakuza were involved with. Who they might still be involved with. Matt calls them the Hand, and this woman, Claire Temple—”

“I’ve met her.”

“And she’s trustworthy?”

“Claire Temple is a resoundingly sensible woman of upstanding character. Way better than Matt ever deserved.”

“Well, she backed up Matt’s story. In fact, she backed up the strangest part of it.”

“How strange are we talking here?”

Karen braced herself for his response. “They can bring their members back from the dead.”

There was a very long stretch of silence as Foggy stared at her. “ _What?!?!_ ”

“They have some chemical process where they can—”

“I heard you, I’m just… _what?!?!_ ”

“I don’t know, Foggy. We live in a world where a team of superheroes dropped a city from the sky, is this any weirder?”

“Yes. Yes it _totally_ is. I mean, Sokovia at least had robots and that vibranium stuff, this is straight-up magic.”

“Matt suspects aliens.”

“Oh great, he’s turning into the History Channel guy with the weird hair.” Foggy rubbed his temples.

“I guess more than anything I’m stuck with how on _earth_ do I publish any of this? I can’t print something this crazy without hard proof, but if I publish what I _do_ know, about how Reynard’s been giving money to a very suspicious company with ties to criminal organizations, that probably bribed a _hospital_ to cover up deaths, who knows how they’ll react?”

“Whoever they are, they’ll retaliate against you if you write about them. That’s basically a given. And maybe it will force them to show their hand…ugh, sorry for the pun, that wasn’t intentional.”

Karen played with her hair and looked at the passersby outside. “I don’t know anymore, Foggy. Everything feels as if it’s just getting more and more bizarre. Things we take for granted don’t seem to apply. I’m back to jumping at shadows, worried how much I should play it safe.”

“Hey, you’ve got me and a powerful law firm to back you up. Plus Brett, I know you use him as a source on the force. And, you know, there _is_ Matt. He could be some real help in this, if he’s gone up against them before.”

Karen nodded. “And Jessica too, I guess.”

“Jones? She knows about this?”

“No, but…we’ve been working on something else together. Plus sometimes drinking.”

“The lovely female lushes,” Foggy quipped. “Can we switch subjects over to something lighter now?”

“Like you and Marci?” Karen made her name an adolescent singsong.

He set his head in his hands. “You are _never_ going to let me live this down, are you?”

The conversation was still a mix of uncomfortable starts and stops after that. You couldn’t bring up the dead rising from their graves without it putting a damper on an evening. But it had felt good to touch base with Foggy, and even if he didn’t believe her _yet_ , Karen at least felt as though she’d fulfilled her obligation as a friend to make sure he knew of the threat.

Back at her apartment, her tiredness finally hit home. It had been a hell of a week, with Lamtom and Olmos and Reynard. She wasn’t looking forward to explaining all of this to Ellison either. She still did a search of the room after dumping her bag, then sat down heavily on bed. She was about to lie back and pass out when she remembered she had at least one more person she needed to give her discoveries to. Should she wait to talk to him in person? Or should she call Matt now? There was no point in sitting on the news for too long. Foggy was right, if she gave him a head start, he could be working to stop any fallout that the article would bring. And besides, Elektra…she meant so much to him, she couldn’t keep it from him.

Karen was reaching for her phone when the music began. _You’re my shining star / no matter who you are_

Her hand froze in midair. Oh crap.

_Shining bright to see / what you could truly be / (what you could truly be)_

Was she ready for this? It had been two weeks without a word from him or any sign of his activities in the city. Karen had done everything she could to build up her support network, she’d even told Jessica about him – a little about him – okay, the bare minimum – so maybe…maybe…

 _You’re my shining star_ it looped back again. If she didn’t make up her mind soon, he was going to hang up.

Karen grabbed her phone and hit call accept before her nerves failed her. “Hey, I’m glad you called, I have some news.”

“Yeah, well, me too. That security system’s almost all finished, I’m going to bring it by sometime.”

There it was. Frank’s voice in her ear. Her heart warmed, her stomach fluttered in dread, and lower down… _damn_. Who was she kidding, two weeks’ absence had made this _worse_. She’d actually _missed_ him.

“Good,” she said through a gulp. “It’ll save me time searching for bugs. But I wanted to give you an update on the Fisk case. Your help is paying off, we’ve found someone who wants to confess what happened.”

“You going to be able to keep him alive to do it?”

“I’ve got Matt involved, and the private-eye I hired. She…she kind of figured out you were my other source. She won’t tell anyone, I don’t think, but she said I’m weird for trusting you.”

“You kinda _are_ , ma’am.”

“I know.” Karen smiled to herself and pushed her hair back, rubbing a hand along her sore shoulders.

“Hey, I…you know, I’m real sorry about interrupting that date of yours. I wouldn’t’ve called if it weren’t that nobody else was picking up.”

“It’s fine, the guy I was with thought it was tons of fun stealing the towels.”

“He somebody new?”

“Yeah. He’s…nice.”

“Good. You deserve a good guy, what with Red…” his voice trailed off.

“Being in love with someone else?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay…” Karen sat back down on her bed, preparing herself for the rest. “I promised that I wouldn’t keep things from you, but I want you to understand that I _don’t_ want you getting too involved in this. Not yet, anyway.” There wasn’t a response from Frank, so she went on. “All right, um, you remember the people that Matt and Elektra were fighting on the rooftop?”

“The guys dressed up like ninjas?”

“Yeah. Well, it turns out they _are_ ninjas. And Elektra isn’t as dead as we thought because they can bring people back.” It suddenly occurred to her that she may have hit a nerve there. Frank’s entire life was driven by knowing there were people he _couldn’t_ bring back, ever. “B-b-but,” she hurried on, “it sounds like a horrible process that may involve taking innocent lives—”

“Relax,” his voice rumbled softly in her ear. “You know I ain’t about to go chasing off after some wild idea like that. I put my ghosts to rest with that bullet in the Blacksmith's head. But d'you think all that shit is true? Zombie ninja warriors?”

“Possibly. Probably. But I’m still looking into things, so you _can’t_ go gunning anyone down yet.”

“This connected any to that Reynard case you’ve been working on?”

Karen was surprised. “You…read my articles that don’t have to do with you?”

“Said all of ’em, didn’t I? Figured he’s the crooked politician you don’t want me whacking.”

“Well, I don’t know if he’s being blackmailed or a willing participant. Plus, he has a family.”

“Which? The wife he keeps for show or the mistress and twins he hides out in the boondocks and sees once a month? Seems to me he ain’t much of a husband or father.”

“Right, but…” Karen trailed off. Once Frank decided someone was worth punishing, could anything convince him to turn back?

“Hey, sounds like you don’t know exactly who’s involved. You know what I think about making sure I only kill the assholes who deserve it. I’ll see how it all plays out before I make up my mind.”

“Right.” Karen felt a wave of relief.

“But yeah, thanks. For trusting me.” He cleared his throat. “D…the guy who works with me, he said you called. You didn’t have to do that.”

“Of course I did.”

“You check up on all your sources?”

“No, but I’ve also never helped one of them perform simple surgery in the back of a van before either.”

“Well, I was fine and you don’t need to worry about me.”

“Oh bull _shit_ , Frank,” Karen snapped, then winced and smoothed her tone. “We both know at this point that this isn’t just a business relationship anymore. We’re helping each other with more than just catching Fisk.”

“What—”

“You saw what seeing all that blood did to me. I realized that night that if we both saw shrinks, they’d probably give us pretty similar diagnoses. Only I tend to break down, while you—”

“Blow up?” There was a tinge of sadness mixed in the humor of his voice.

“Uh huh. And there’s no one I feel like I can talk to about this. No one with shared life experience. That guy I was a date on, he’s…I like him, but if I play it out in my head, telling him about what happened to my brother or with Wesley? He’d tell me to turn myself into the cops. Same with Matt, Foggy, Jessica, my coworkers, _nobody_ would accept me the way you did.”

“Yeah, and there’s a pretty fucked up reason for it. None of those people you listed’ve racked up more than a hundred bodies, tortured people, broken out of jail, any of the shit I’ve done. I don’t judge you because I ain’t in any position to do it. And because, as messed up as I am, I think capping murderous sons of bitches is the best thing you could possibly do. I ain’t a good influence. You want someone to talk to, take your own idea and see a shrink.”

“I’ll see one if you do, Frank,” she said, calmly. A steely resolve was building inside her.

“What’s that supposed to—?”

“Or are you saying that you tell everyone what your worst nightmares are?” That shut him up. Karen took a deep breath. “I said we’re helping _each_ _other_ , and I meant it. _You_ need someone who will listen to you and accept you the same as I do.”

“You don’t owe me that.”

“Yeah, I _do_. And even if I didn’t, I’d still I _want_ to. In case you haven’t noticed, Frank, in spite of knowing that it’s a really stupid idea, I actually give a shit about you. Christ, I’m even kind of okay with what you’re doing, at least some of the time. I wish you’d think a little more in the long term, but…can’t you just _accept_ that from me? A-a-accept that you have a _friend_?”

Okay, so she was leaving out a lot there. Leaving out her attraction to him, which was kind of a big deal. But it still felt like baring at least a little of her soul. She remembered belatedly Matt’s warning that Frank would push her away if she tried to get closer to him, and her heart began to hammer, worried that she’d pushed too far too fast. His silence didn’t help.

“Yeah, I’m working on that long term thinking issue of mine.” Typical Frank, ducking a gesture of intimacy. Karen almost laughed. “You want to hear about it when I bring the system over?”

Right, he was planning on doing that, wasn’t he? Their conversation had turned _way_ off course. “Sure. We can have a nice long chat. Maybe you’ll even finally tell me what your friend’s name is, the one who made it? Or is Micro the name of some company he works for?”

“It’s one of his online names, in this hacker group he helps out. And why don’t we stick with that, okay? I thought you wanted some deniability.”

“Micro it is then. When do you want to come over? Any time is fine—wait, no, not next Tuesday, that’s my book group night.”

“A book group?”

“I have to do _something_ normal to keep myself sane.”

“Heh, good idea. Wednesday, then.”

“Are you going to climb in through my window again?”

“How about I bring Max and I come up the stairs? Unless you got a hundred people in your lobby again.”

“Are you sure no one will recognize you?”

“In the photo everybody knows of me I’ve got raccoon eyes and a broken nose. I put on some shades and a hat and walk Max every day. Nobody’s even looked twice at me so far.”

“Well, I _will_ look forward to seeing Max again. How’s our little puppy doing?”

“Better’n me lately.” He made a pained noise as she heard him shift on the other end. “Shit, I have been hopped up on painkillers here for so damn long…”

“Is that why you haven’t hung up on me yet? Are you bored?”

“Out of my goddamn mind,” Frank chuckled.

“Well, I’m glad I could keep you entertained while you can’t be out murdering people. Give me a call when you get here on Wednesday and I’ll let you in.”

“All right, will do.”

“Good night, Frank.”

“Night.”

Karen stared at her phone, feeling a burst of confidence. She’d done it. She’d declared the two of them friends and he hadn’t fought her on it. That was definitely something, and it had to be her successes in work and friendship that were enabling it. Lamtom’s advice had definitely proven helpful.

Or at least, that part of it. He’d admitted that his advice on her _other_ issues was at best only partial, and Karen could feel a bit of her itch returning. But unless Frank showed some sign of interest in her, she was going to stick to her commitment to not do anything she thought he’d be offended by. That was what a friend would do, right? She’d never really been in this situation before; she’d been lucky enough that her attractions in the past had always been mutual and usually quickly consummated. This, on the other hand, was a frustrating mess that a man pledged to celibacy was never really going to help her untangle.

Was this something she could ask another friend about, like Jessica or Foggy? No, not Foggy, because what if he’d…? when he had a crush on her…? Karen shook her head. She didn’t want to think about that possibility. Instead she sent a short text to Matt telling him they had to meet to talk about something important soon. She was too exhausted to dump something that heavy on him over the phone. Right now she had to get some sleep to face the potential wrath of Ellison tomorrow.


	15. I might stay a while

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so, yeah, real life and its general suckitude has absorbed most of my energy for the last few weeks, but in honor of a job interview that went really well, I'm going to try getting back to writing again. Besides, I like writing. Leave comments, they give me strength, even if they're criticisms.

Karen stood behind her desk, fidgeting and waiting for her editor’s reaction. She’d set out the evidence she and her coworkers had gathered in front of Ellison, opting to leave out the stories about the Hand and instead end it with the rumor of Asano’s yakuza connections and dealings with Metro General. Ellison had been quiet the entire time, arms folded at first, but when she’d explained how Alonzo and she had gone to Grommet Industries without telling him, he’d sighed and started rubbing his forehead with a thumb.

“Okay,” he finally said. “So obviously this still needs a lot of work, unless that source of yours wants to go public.”

“He’s _very_ deep background, sorry.”

Ellison sighed. “Well, yes, I will be calling Angela back in on this. The two of you need to make a plan for filling in the gaps in the story. We don’t need as hard of evidence as the police do, but I don’t want us getting sued into bankruptcy either. Especially by Roxxon, you don’t imply that they knew _anything_ bad about Asano unless you have absolute proof, do you understand? They’re almost as bad as Oscorp for suing the media.”

“Right.”

“You’re going to need to investigate Asano. They’ve got an office here in town?”

“Um…” Karen shuffled through her papers. “Yes, yes, they still have a-a small place in Midtown, after they got kicked out of the Yakatomi Building.”

“Good. I’m going to assign you a few puff pieces this week profiling international companies for our business section – you gather the information, Amir will do the actual write-up since that’s his area. That will be a good cover for you to interview someone over at Asano.”

“Why me? Angela has more experience—”

“Manus has also been the lead name on all the bylines of the Reynard articles, you’ve only shared a handful of them with her. They’ll be less suspicious of you. Meanwhile, she’s going to be doing the much harder work of looking into that hospital bribery you mentioned. I just want to get you and Alonzo into the building and see what you can see.”

Karen nodded, relieved. He wasn’t mad – that was a good turn of events.

“Oh, and Page?” He gave her a severe look. “Don’t _ever_ pull this kind of stunt without telling me again, okay? Next time I won’t cover the business costs.”

It was a reassuring start to her week. Angela came back that Monday, which everyone in the office observed with a short round of applause. Karen and Alonzo went out with her after work to plot strategy.

“So that’s what you and Claire were talking about.” Angela’s brow was furrowed, deep in thought. “Well, I can see why she wouldn’t want to come forward, I know she’s been trying to keep a low profile since she left Metro General. It’s why she works at that cruddy little clinic.”

“You know her through the immunization drives?” Karen asked.

“And I see her around the neighborhood. Claire’s got a reputation for being someone you can go to if you need help.”

If that wasn’t enough of a boost, her book group with Stantacki went well, too. Karen hadn’t been sure she would contribute much, but it turned out she was the only person in the group who’d ever been inside a prison, which fascinated the rest of them. She only mentioned the time she’d interviewed Frank, not the times she’d been in herself. She also left out all her insights on what it was like to have killed someone. Though the circumstances had been completely different, that part of the book had been challenging, and at one point in their discussion Karen had to take a short bathroom break to settle her nerves.

“You okay?” Stantacki asked her as the group finished up.

“My stomach might be a little upset,” she told him, which was one of those half-lies that slipped off her tongue so smoothly.

“I hope that doesn’t mean we’re cancelling Ming’s,” Dwayne said as he walked up to them. Stantacki raised an eyebrow and looked at Karen, who shrugged sheepishly.

“We’re friends outside of group now,” she explained.

“Just friends!” Dwayne added quickly.

Stantacki didn’t seem convinced, but Karen was, after their dinner at Ming’s. It was an excellent restaurant, the best Chinese food she’d ever had, and Dwayne didn’t even mention his asking her out. Maybe he was embarrassed about it, but he didn’t let it show. He asked her about work, and Karen confessed to her panic attack and Ellison sticking her on desk work.

“But I’m doing better and back to working on a big story now,” she told him between bites of lo mein. “I can’t give you details, but it’s going to be a _really_ big deal, so look forward to that.”

“God, that panic attack thing, though. I feel you. My freshman year in college I had trouble adapting to the course load and making friends. I had some serious situational depression for almost the entire year before my roommate talked me into getting some help. Are you thinking about seeing anyone for it?”

“Um, I’ve been mostly just seeking out friends to talk to, you know, plus…plus some lifestyle changes. If it gets too bad, maybe, I don’t know.” Karen gave a forced smile, and Dwayne dropped it.

Karen was feeling more optimistic than she had in weeks. There were only two things that still worried her.

The first was that Matt hadn’t replied to her text yet. She wanted to let him know what was going on with Elektra as soon as possible, before the story hit the paper, but it was as if he’d disappeared off the map. Which was unsettling because with Matt it was actually possible he _had_ disappeared – or worse, that he’d died or was in a coma somewhere. Should she go by his apartment, to check on him? Not yet, she’d give him a little more time.

Besides, she had another nerve-wracking encounter coming up that Wednesday - the second thing on her mind.

Karen got Frank’s message in the evening after another long day at work, just as she was reheating leftovers from Ming’s. The text just read “outside,” and she’d scrambled down the steps as fast as she could. At first she was irritated because he wasn’t anywhere in sight, then a man walking a dog came around the corner. Karen recognized Max first, and realized that Frank’s poor excuse for a disguise was as effective as he’d said. It wasn’t just that he hid as much of his face as he could, it was that he’d cultivated a New Yorker’s hurried and indifferent walk in place of his usual military-influenced stride.

“Hey Max,” she said as she stooped down to pet him, choosing the easier of the two to show affection towards. The pit bull gave her a slobbery kiss before she stood back up. Glancing at the bag slung over Frank’s shoulder, she asked, “Is that the system?”

“Plus some tools to install it. You might want to turn on some music inside, this’ll be a noisy job.”

“Nobody should be asleep yet and most of them have been plenty loud before,” she told him as they started up the steps to her building. She noticed that Frank was grimacing with each step, struggling to keep up with Max as he bounded behind her. “Are you all right?”

“Stomach wound cuts the tendons connected to your leg, that takes time to heal back.”

“Here.” Karen held the door for them, the pointed down the hall as they came in. “There’s an elevator in the back. None of us use it unless we have to it, it has a bad tendency to break down.”

The rarity of the elevator doors opening was enough to make Gertrude’s head pop out of her door and watch them approach Karen’s apartment. She was scrutinizing Frank, and for a moment Karen panicked that she might have identified his face. Then the elderly woman’s eyes turned to Max. “Isn’t that the dog you watched a month ago?”

“Uh, yes it is, and this is the friend he belongs too.” Karen nudged Frank to step into her apartment away from her nosy neighbor, but instead he tipped the brim of his cap and smiled politely. “He’s helping me with some repairs, so if you hear anything…”

“Of course, dear. It’s always nice to meet one of your _friends_.” The way she said it let Karen know Gertrude had already made up her mind about who Frank was, though Karen blushing when she said it probably didn’t help at all.

Inside, Max began to scan the room as Frank dumped his bag on her couch with a grunt. “It’s all in here. Alarms and keypad locks for your door and window, top of the line, or so Micro tells me.” He pulled out a drill and screwdriver, then gestured for her to pick up the other contents. Karen first found a small but heavy electronic device that looked to be made of two parts, one small and the other dominated by a set of numbered keys.

“How does this work?”

He jabbed his chin at the door and she brought it over. “Place it over the edge of the door. Yeah, like that, with that line at the door crack. Magnetic bolts hold the thing together, I’ll have to screw it in on either side. I got the command code for you to set up a password, it’s got to be at least six numbers. Don’t choose your birthday or anything somebody could guess easy, he said.”

“I’m not an idiot,” Karen muttered as she input the code from the sheet he gave her and then typed in the date her brother died. The device beeped and split in two in her hands, briefly showing the heavy metal bars that had been holding it together. “So I can lock it from the inside, how do I do that from the outside?”

“There should be a remote in the bag somewhere. You’ll have to put in the same code to get in. Micro swears it’s unhackable, and he knows his shit.”

Karen checked the bag and found, along with another electronic lock, two small remote controls, one black and one white, each attached to a keychain. Meanwhile Frank took the tools and started working on her door, making a noise she was sure everyone in the building could hear. Technically you weren’t supposed to make modifications to your apartment without getting the building manager’s approval, and Karen was sure her mention of “an extra lock” did not cover what Frank was installing. But their manager was also tremendously negligent when it came to checking on anything above the first floor. Part of the downside of living in cheap housing was stingy management.

She tested out the remotes when he’d finished, and found the black one matched the door. “The other is for the window?”

“Yeah. You’ll need a second password, he said make it different from the other one.”

“Okay,” and Karen typed in 041315. “You know this means you can’t break into my apartment, right?”

“I ever done that?”

“No, but it seems like the sort of thing you _would_ do, at some point. Are you sure Micro didn’t give you an override device?”

“If I had an override, someone else might steal it. I ain’t putting you at that kind of risk.”

Max wasn’t liking the noise and had nosedived under her bed when Frank started. Once he finished, the dog popped back out and continued winding around the apartment for new smells. That reminded Karen of the Chinese she still had sitting on her counter. “Have you eaten? I can share.”

“I’ll be fine until I get back to where I’m staying.”

“Uh, _no_ , you promised me a conversation about your long term efforts. And besides, it’s _very_ good leftovers, you’d be missing out.” She took out a second plate and divvied up the lo mein.

Frank peered into the kitchen, nose catching the aroma. “I might stay a while.”

As the microwave hummed, he took a seat at her kitchen table. Karen could see perspiration on his forehead as he wiped it off on his jacket sleeve. “That wore you out?”

“Plus the walk here from where I stashed the van. Healing up after something like that ain’t easy.”

Karen delivered their plates. “I suppose now is when you tell me how Serbian mercs, drug cartels, white supremacists, and child pornographers are all related?”

“Just the first two,” Frank said, munching on his food. “Skinheads and perverts were more like an opportunity I couldn’t take a pass on.”

Karen didn’t reply, switching into interview mode by silently waiting as she ate.

Frank poked his plate with his fork. “This is good.”

Karen kept waiting. He was trying to avoid the topic, she suspected, or at least not give her any details.

Finally, he set his fork down, swallowed his food, and folded his arms across his chest. “The cartels and the Serbians were the start of something. There’s a rich young prick, thinks he can make a run at taking Fisk’s place, especially if his appeals don’t work. Which they won’t, thanks to you and me, so he’s target number one. Real pretty boy, thinks he’s good with the ladies.”

“Women actually like him?”

“He _thinks_ they do.”

“Oh.” It took Karen a moment to absorb the implications of that. “ _Oh_. Ew.”

“Yeah. I got plans for his face before I do him in. Anyway, that’s what I’ve been doing for a while, looking into him, and I’m making him sweat. He had men asking around my old place, which is why I had to skip out and lay low with Micro. Damn shame, I was starting to like my neighbors. Weird bunch, but I didn’t want them getting involved in my shit.”

“Did you try burning your bridges with them as thoroughly as you did with me?”

“I think with them it’ll actually stick.” Frank went back to eating. Max came up to the table and he fished out a piece of chicken and tossed it to the dog, who gobbled it up eagerly.

“I assume these plans involve making sure no one gets caught in your crossfire?” Karen prodded him. “Taking out the top of a criminal organization could start a war between people who want his spot.”

He nodded. “I thought of that. Still trying to work it out. Maybe some kind of setup outside of the city. Micro can search for empty areas pretty easily on that computer system of his. That’s how I got those addresses you gave to Red. I ain’t doing that again, though, interfering little—” he stopped whatever insult he was planning, presumably for her sake.

“Don’t rule him out completely.” Memories of Sandra Young resurfaced in her mind. “I don’t want any innocent deaths attached to your name.”

“Can’t control everything.”

“Sure, but it’s still your responsibility.” When he started to roll his eyes, Karen felt her temper briefly flare. “Otherwise you’re no different than Reyes, trying to hide your collateral damage.”

That probably wasn’t fair, and Frank’s jaw clenched as he looked away, but the fact that he didn’t snap at her meant he was only irritated because he knew she was right.

Karen looked at his nearly empty plate and took her own to the kitchen. He stretched to hand her his dishes, and his face twisted in pain. She set them in the sink – she’d wash them tomorrow, Karen was terrible about letting dishes build up – and looked at him in concern. “Is it really still that bad?”

Frank shook his head. “Painkillers are just wearing off a little, they do this time of night. I’m trying to cut back, they make me… I can’t think straight on ’em. Give me weird dreams, too.”

“Well, if you want something to dull the pain right now, I have just the thing.” Karen pulled two glasses and a bottle of whiskey from out of a cabinet.

He held up a hand. “I never drank much and I haven’t since…in a while.”

“It’s your choice. I’m fine with drinking alone.” She set one glass in front of him and poured herself the other as she sat down again.

He gazed at the glass, obviously slightly tempted. “I need to drive home tonight.”

“I’ve got a couch right over there for you to crash on.” She took a drink.

“And what will that nice old woman living next door think about that?”

She shrugged. “That I brought a man home for the night. Which, technically, I did, but not for the reasons they think.”

“You do that often?”

“Not lately, but they think _everyone_ who shows up at my apartment is here for romantic reasons, even the woman who placed that bug. You won’t be sullying my reputation, believe me.”

“…why the fuck not.” He took the whiskey and poured himself a large drink and chugged all of it back in one long series of gulps.

Karen’s eyes widened. “You _sure_ you don’t drink?”

“Old skills from my marine days. I warn you, I snore since I went on these meds.”

“I’ve slept with snorers before.” Karen stopped, realized what that sounded like, and spluttered out, “I mean, I’ve slept _next_ to snorers, not, you know, that I’ve _slept_ —”

“You sleep next to snorers you ain’t sleeping with?” Frank looked amused.

“Well…okay, yeah, but I didn’t mean that…I mean, _we’re_ not…”

“Re _lax_. Shit, have another drink, you’re wound tight as a spring.”

She took his advice, finishing her glass and pouring a second one. When she was done, Frank followed her example, though his portion was smaller than his first one.

“But not recently, huh?” he asked.

“No, it’s…it’s been a very long very _dry_ spell.”

“Not even that new nice guy?”

“He’s…he wants to actually _date_ me, and that’s not who you invite over for a hookup, it’s just asking for drama. Plus, you know, I like him. I may not want to date him, but I’m not going to break his heart.”

He took another sip and glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “You and Red ever…you know…”

“Oho no, Frank, if you are going to start quizzing me on my entire sexual history, I am going to _demand_ some quid pro quo.” It must have been the drinks she was having, because she could’ve sworn he’d sounded slightly jealous asking about her and Matt.

Frank shifted uncomfortably for a moment and took another long drink before answering. “Maria and I met in high school, starting dating as sophomores. Homecoming junior year, in my dad’s truck after the game…and that’s all she wrote.” He shrugged.

“Really? Not…not even when you went overseas? I don’t mean to imply y-y-you cheated or something, I just know some military couples consider that an exception…”

“Some do, and I dunno, I might’ve, but there ain’t exactly a lot of opportunities to meet eager women up in the Hindu Kush.”

“Oh _wow_. That’s…that’s actually really sweet.” Karen took a deep breath. _Quid pro quo, huh?_ She decided to mimic his strategy of liquid courage before fulfilling her part of the bargain.

“Look, you don’t have to say anything just ’cause I did…”

“No, no, I’m not ashamed about it. My parents would love me to be but…after I moved out of my their house, I sort of committed myself to enjoying everything they’d told me I shouldn’t. So, drinking,” she held up her now empty glass with an wry twist of her mouth, “and yeah, I did sleep around a little. But, since coming to the city…it was hard to meet anyone I could get close to, you know? Matt was the first person I’d trusted in a long time, which is, you know, ironic given how much he was lying to me. And we never got around to…I mean, I _wanted_ to, but he had this idea to take things slow so that we didn’t mess it up, which obviously worked out _great_ , pfft, we were _so_ happy together.”

“He was an idiot.” Karen’s surprise must have shown in her face, because Frank quickly clarified, “Hey, like I said, you got something like that, you don’t just let it go.”

“Right.” She took another sip. “Well, I think that goes for friendships too, so I’m trying to keep that up with him. Just like I am with you.” Karen looked up at her clock; it was starting to get late. “Do you need to call Micro or anything, let him know that you’re staying here?”

“There’s a GPS in the van, he’ll figure it out. Shit, he’s probably be thrilled that I’m—” Then he did something Karen was sure for a moment she’d imagined before clearing his throat and fixing his eyes on his glass. “He keeps, uh, keeps saying I should make more human contacts and all…”

He was lying to her. For the first time ever, he wasn’t just keeping something from her, he was flat-out _lying_ , it was all over his face. That was definitely _not_ what Micro had told him he should be doing. Karen had a very good guess what it actually was, too. Because she wasn’t imagining things. Alcohol _was_ in play here, but it dawned on her that wasn’t _her_ it was affecting. It was _him_ , the lack of tolerance combined with the remnants of those painkillers he was taking. He was being careless and letting his guard down. It was the only reason she could think of that his eyes would have made a quick sweep of her body, that he’d looked embarrassed when she’d caught him doing it, that he’d be concertedly trying to _not_ look at her right now.

He was attracted to her. Jesus fucking Christ, this changed everything. No-no-no, she’d been operating completely on the assumption that he _didn’t_ , but…of course he wouldn’t want her to know that, would he? He was doing everything he could to keep them as just allies, now friends, and it hadn’t even been a year since Maria had died right in front of him, no wonder he looked so mortified right now. There was a part of her – a _large_ part – that wanted to press this, wanted to flirt back, wanted to make a move. But…it was the alcohol. Karen had experienced enough men trying to hit on her when she was under the influence that she didn’t want to try to take advantage of him that way.

Or more accurately, she _wanted_ to, but she wasn’t _going_ to. Instead, she changed the subject. “So, um, I’ve never asked, but how did you and Micro meet?”

“He had a military contract. Kept in touch a bit after he went back stateside. Micro’s involved with this, what do you call it, hacktivist group? Real big on government transparency. So after I got back, I let him know that if something ever happened to me, I had a disk of information with his name on it.”

“Kandahar?”

He nodded. “I die, he dumps it all online, wikileaks style.”

“Does he know what’s on it?”

“No more than you.”

“Is that why you went to him for help? After you became the Punisher?”

“No that’s because…nah, if I tell you that you’ll start digging and figure out who he is. You’re too good at your job, Karen.”

She sucked in a breath. Frank hadn’t changed demeanor at all, still looking at his glass as he sloshed the remaining alcohol in a circle, but she’d noticed what he’d just said, even if he hadn’t. Karen’s skin was very warm now, and it wasn’t from the whiskey running in her veins. Even in his tipsy state he’d notice the way she was staring at him soon enough…He raised his eyes towards hers and for a moment their gazes were locked and Karen couldn’t breathe at all. It was a rustle of movement from Max (curled up at his old spot near the couch and already dreaming) who gave her an excuse to jump to her feet so he couldn’t see how pink her cheeks had turned. “I-I-I’m going to get you a pillow and some blankets, for-for the couch.”

“I don’t need ’em.”

“It’s no bother, really, I’m doing laundry soon anyway.” Karen pulled his empty bag off the couch and set the bedding out, stepping over Max to do it. “You can pay me back in quarters if you feel guilty about it.”

Frank accepted that, and tried to get out of his chair. He didn’t make any noises of pain this time, but the same alcohol numbing his injury was making him wobbly on his feet. Karen ducked under his shoulder to help him stand straight. The drink must really have been affecting him, because he made no protest. She noticed his breath tighten for a moment as she pressed against his side to maneuver him to the couch.

He stretched out at first, feet going over the edge, before propping his pillow and pulling himself up to fit. Karen shook the blanket out and set it loosely on him, with Frank adjusting it to actually cover himself. He placed an arm over his face and sighed. “I’m going to have one helluva hangover, I can tell already. Shouldn’t have mixed booze and meds.”

“I’ll be here in the morning with my personal cocktail to deal with it.” Karen stood there, uncomfortably, then mumbled, “Good night,” before going to her dresser to find pajamas.

“G’night,” he mumbled back as she retreated to the bathroom.

By the time she’d changed and brushed her teeth, Frank was already asleep, breathing steadily. Karen tiptoed to her bed and lay stretched out under the covers, flat on her back, waiting. Sure enough, after fifteen excruciating minutes, Frank began to snore as he’d promised. Good. That would hopefully keep him from hearing her, so long as she stayed quiet.

In the past, it had turned into a habit, a sleep aid, as routine as scratching an itch. With two weeks off, all that was gone. The sensation of his body against hers was still vivid in her memory, as was the heavy sound of his breathing and that moment when his eyes had taken her in, and it was so _easy_ to imagine that it was _him_ between her legs right now, him pushing against her, in her, saying her name, oh God, _God_ he’d said her _name_ for the first time and—and—

She turned her face into her pillow as she climaxed, muffling the sound as best as she could. She felt lightheaded as it passed, but turned quickly to check that Frank hadn’t woken up. Thank God, he was still snoring uninterrupted. Karen waited for the guilt to set in as it always had before, but it didn’t this time — now  _that_ was a weight off her shoulders. But soon she felt something else tightening in her stomach. A kind of nervousness.

If they kept this up, if neither of them died any time soon – which was always a possibility given how they both lived – they were going to wind up sleeping together. Maybe not any time soon, maybe not for months or even years, but at some point. Every time they pulled away from each other, they snapped back together, closer than before, and if he wanted her too then at this point it had become an inevitability.

Which was terrifying, because she didn’t know what on earth it would mean. Whether it would be the end of something or the beginning – and the beginning of what? You didn’t _date_ the Punisher, didn’t go out or introduce him to your friends at parties or move in or any of the normal things you were supposed to do in a relationship. Worse, part of her still separated out Frank Castle, the charming dog-lover you could have drinks with, from the Punisher, the killer whose crime scenes turned her stomach. That wasn’t smart and it wasn’t fair, not when he clearly considered them both to be a part of his identity. Karen didn’t know how she was supposed to reconcile that it in her mind once and for all. She could relive that night with the Blacksmith a thousand times, or any other time she’d heard him at work, but a closed door or a stainless steel counter or a dumpster all left cracks for her denial to seep in.

In spite of her uneasy thoughts, the rumble of Frank’s snores and the snuffles from Max turned out to be perfect white noise for making her drift off. Her dreams were predictably about him, and she wondered whether the “weird” ones he’d been having involved her.

The alarm on her phone was an unwelcome interruption. Frank was still asleep on the couch, but Max stirred when she got out of bed, whining in a way that let her know he was hungry. Karen reached over and shook his owner lightly on the shoulder. “I hate to do this to you, but I have to be at work in an hour and a half, and you won’t be able to leave after me with those new fancy locks.”

He blinked groggily and rubbed his temples. “ _Ow_.”

“Let me get you the hangover special…”

While she gathered the items, he pushed off the blanket and swung his legs off the couch, still clutching his head. Max came up to him and he rubbed his ears absently. “I didn’t…look, last thing I remember we were swapping stories about who we slept with, which is none of my damn business now that I’m sober, but after that…I didn’t say anything too stupid did I?”

“You told me how you met Micro and that he’s going to dump Kandahar online if you die…which I take from that look you didn’t mean to tell me.” Karen handed him ibuprofen and two glasses, one with water and the other with a raw egg. “But don’t worry, that was all, otherwise you were a perfect gentleman, one of the best I’ve ever had pass out on my couch.”

“I ain’t drinking with you again if you’re going to use it to get info out of me.” He swallowed what she’d given him and stood up with a creak. “I better take Max back, he’s gotta be starving by now.”

“Don’t let me get in your way.” She put in the key to open the door and Frank, holding Max by his leash, came up to her.

“Thanks for, uh…” he wet his lips and tightened his jaw. “It’s good to know I’ve got somewhere else to go if I ever need to.”

“Of course.” They stood there for a few seconds, and yes, it was all still there in his face, hidden away, but she knew the hints now. In retrospect, they’d been there for a while. “Stay safe.”

He gave one quick nod, and then he was gone.


	16. [Interlude]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In retrospect I maybe should have done a few of these before. Ah well, fanfic is all about practice for me. I'll have a few more after this, when it's necessary.

David heard the garage door open and knew that Castle was finally back. Usually if the Punisher was out all night that meant he could be traced to a crime scene soon enough (David was good at tracking crime scenes, he’d been obsessed with them for a while, until supplying an old acquaintance had become his new life’s work). But he knew Castle hadn’t gone out killing that night. Which begged the question of why he was rolling in at 7 am rather than the evening before.

He watched him on his monitors as he got out of the van with Max and simply waited in his chair for the vigilante to come into the living area of the old mechanical shop that David had retrofitted after his life fell apart. Castle was still limping, but he managed to slam the door and give him a glare when he strode past that said _Don’t ask_.

David ignored the message. “Did she like the new security system?”

“It’ll work fine,” Castle barked back, tossing off the jacket and hat that served as the closest thing to his secret identity. David sipped his coffee nonchalantly and waited for Castle to pour Max a bowl of kibble (Max always came first, the masochistic moron) and retreat to the rather low-budget bathroom David had jury-rigged out of a chemical wash station. He heard the shower begin to run. _Ug_ _h, this again._

David watched Max chowing down. “So,” he asked dryly, “what have _you_ two been up to?” The dog obviously didn’t answer.

Castle came out eventually, wrapped in a towel, and started digging through the pile of laundry dumped on the couch he used as a bed (David’s rooms were up on the second floor). He selected his regular black outfit (like an emo teen, David thought), deliberately _not_ looking at where his ally was sitting.

“You didn’t come back last night.”

A flinch. “Got tired. Slept on her couch.”

“Ah,” David let the disappointment show in his voice as obviously as he could.

Castle responded by pulling on a shirt and throwing his wet towel at David’s console. While he scrambled to keep the moisture off his electronics, Castle finished getting changed and hobbled over to the desk. “You dig up anything useful for me while I was out?”

“You’re allowed to take breaks once in a while,” he said in lieu of actually answering, turning his chair to face his friend. “I know you like to imagine you turned into a machine the day you donned the Punisher symbol, but you’ve still got physical needs. Eating, sleeping…” He reached out a hand and jabbed Castle in the side, satisfied when he winced in pain. “ _This_ happened because you’re getting sloppy. Worn out. You need to give yourself time to recharge.”

“I’ve been cooped up here for how long? Ain’t that vacation enough, old man?” (He wasn’t more than a decade past Castle’s age, actually; Castle’s daughter had been nine, his son had been fifteen.)

“No, because you’ve still been in full Punisher mode the whole time, checking out this Russo guy. You need a _mental_ break. Take Max into the backwoods and play catch for a week, stop being the Punisher and try to be Frank Castle – and I know,” he held up a hand before he could be interrupted, “ _yes_ , Frank Castle died, but that was just version 1.0 the way I see it. You don’t know who the hell 2.0 even _is_. Or maybe you think that if you actually enjoy yourself for more than a minute you’ll give up on this whole business, which is bullshit and we both know it.”

It _was_ bullshit, of course. The newspapers kept count, 115 so far, but that was only the big hits that could easily be traced back to the Punisher. They had no idea that he’d had anything to do with the stickup man shot at a diner, or the gay-basher whose corpse had washed up in the Hudson, or the dozen others Castle had taken out in between his major planned strikes. They didn’t watch him sit in front of a police scanner every night and go out to observe from the rooftops, just in case his assistance was needed. They didn’t know how much Castle was turning himself into nothing but the Punisher. And at this rate, it was going to kill him before they could accomplish anything.

“…like I _can_ enjoy myself anymore,” was the only reply he got. Castle reached a hand up to rub his head.

“Didn’t sleep well?”

“Hango—” he stopped himself, but David’s eyes had already widened.

“Really?” He clicked off the main power that charged the plethora of machines he ran from his station, removing any distractions, and lay his hands across his ample belly. “Look, I hope you understand that I’m going to ask you a question, and I’m only doing it because I want what’s best for you, because I want to help you and support you. And I don’t want you to give me your usual ‘mind your own fucking business’ line, because it’s not going to make me stop.” He took a deep breath. “What the _hell_ happened last night?”

He was certain for a long moment from the cold look Castle gave him that he wasn’t going to get an answer, but then the man broke his gaze and looked off into empty air. His jaw clenched a few times and he put his hands on the desk, leaning wearily. “We had some drinks. Talked. That’s all, but…”

David raised an eyebrow.

“She thinks she’s good at hiding that she wants me, but she ain’t. It’s…” he trailed off.

“What, did she make a pass at you? Things got awkward?

“No, I…she didn’t do anything, I just…last night I thought about it. About taking her up on it, the way she was looking at me, I really did…I dunno what’s wrong with me.”

 _You have a pulse_ _?_ David thought, but when that seemed to be all Castle wanted to volunteer, he said, “I’ve never met her. Is she pretty?”

Castle scoffed, but then, “She’d got a nice smile. Tall, thin, blonde—”

“Your type,” he observed. “Is that the problem? You think she’s just your replacement for Maria?”

“Maybe when we first met, yeah, but…she’s different, she’s soft around the edges, you know, sweet, but there’s this dark side of her. She killed two guys already, can you believe that? And she doesn’t feel any guiltier about it than I do.” Frank took a ragged breath. “I mean, that sounds perfect, right? Exactly the kind of woman for someone like me. She hates seeing what I do but she doesn’t think it’s wrong.”

“You said she freaked out when she saw all that blood.”

He nodded. “Yeah, and I know why, too. ’Cause she told me. Shit, she tells me _everything_. And there’s a part of me that thinks, I could talk her out of her…issues. Make her get used to it. And I want to. I _want_ to, sometimes.” Castle’s fists clenched the edge of the desk, white-knuckled. “I want to take her here, get her in our operation, tell her to quit her job, just do this with me…I want to drag her down here. To my level. When she’s trying to stay above it all.” He shook his head. “She was right, I _am_ such an asshole.”

“Hey,” David reached out a hand, not touching him, but close enough to get his attention. “This is lonely work, you made a connection with her, I get why you’d want to be closer to her.”

“No,” his head shake was even firmer now, and he pushed away from the table. “No, I have fucked up her life too much already. That’s why I’m doing this, I help her out, pay off that debt. But…what if it don’t work out like that? What if I’m just kidding myself and this is all some stupid ass excuse to see her?”

“So what if it is? Maybe that’s because she gives you something you  _need_. Look—the way I see it, first, this Page woman must be strong enough to resist getting sucked into your quagmire of wretchedness or else you wouldn’t be as impressed with her as you clearly are. Second, I’ve told you before, I don’t care _who_ it is, maybe she’s not a good choice, but I’m just saying…” he sighed. “It’s one of those physical needs I talk about, Castle, you _need_ to get laid at _some_ point. Or at _least_ allow yourself to jack off so that you’re not running up my water bill with all your cold showers.”

Castle had folded his arms across his chest as David talked, glowering at the floor. “Just give me the damn painkillers,” he growled at last. David pulled them out of his locked drawer, a smaller dose than last time (they were tapering him off). Castle dry-swallowed the lot before shuffling off to the chair he’d been operating out of for the last two weeks. The Punisher was back, as he grabbed a gun and began cleaning it.

“You still want me to keep tabs on anyone going in and out of her place?” David called, switching his system back on.

“Sure.”

“You tell her the locks do that?”

“What d'you think?”

“I take it that's a no…”

David was more than used to the Punisher ignoring his advice by this point in their relationship, but Castle hadn’t thrown him out yet. It wasn’t just that he was useful (he was _very_ useful, David took pride in that, they might never find out who killed his boy but they were cutting down the kind of scum who’d done it), it was because Castle was wondering whether he was right. So now, having said his piece, David would keep his mouth shut, let the idea simmer in his head, only bring it up again much later. Wear him down, bit by bit. He’d meant it, it didn’t have to be this Karen Page woman, but getting Castle to admit he was still a flesh and blood human being was imperative in the long term, if their mission was going to last.

Besides, for all that he’d proven to be the worst patient imaginable these last few weeks, David actually liked the guy.


	17. Apparently even the undead need to eat

“I want to follow you to the Asano office.”

“I won’t need protection, Matt, I’m going there in broad daylight.”

“Not to watch you. I want to check it out too. My senses will pick up things yours won’t.”

Matt had taken the news Karen brought him surprisingly well. He seemed tense, arms crossed, but no worse than he’d been in a long time. His apartment looked clean for once, like a place you’d live in rather than the cluttered den of a conspiracy theorist.

“I don’t know if you can even get in the building…”

“I’m better at this than you know.” Matt let out a sigh and swung his arms down to his side. “This is big. A huge help. I can’t thank you enough.”

“Mmm, don’t thank me yet. Investigating them may only make things worse, I don’t know.” Karen peered at him, trying to decipher what he was feeling. “You seem to be doing better.”

“So do you. Did you wind up talking to Father Lamtom?”

“Um, yeah, I did. He wasn’t what I was expecting, honestly. He’s nice. Told me I was taking too much on myself and should get help from friends.”

“Then apparently he must give out the same advice to a lot of people, because that’s what he’s been telling me lately.”

“Is it working?”

“More or less. What about you? Anything new bothering you?”

“I’m doing really well, actually, just fine, and you can totally tell I’m lying right now can’t you?”

Matt gave a chuckle. “Sorry. But yes.”

 _Hey, I’m thinking about sleeping with the Punisher at some point, how does that sound?_ “It’s…um, well, it’s not really something I want to talk about with an ex-boyfriend.”

“Right,” Matt said, his smile fading. “Right, of course. Um…was that who you were out drinking with last night? Again, it’s, I can smell it under your toothpaste…”

“H-he was.” Karen suddenly had a disturbing thought. “Are you…able to tell different people apart by smell?”

“Only people I know really well. So if, say, you and Foggy were hooking up, I would know that, but apparently you aren’t.”

“He’s seeing Marci Stahl now. Which you would already know, if you ever talked to him.”

Matt heaved a heavy breath. “Point taken. And I shouldn’t be acting jealous of you meeting someone new, not after—”

“—you cheated on me?”

He grimaced. “After that, yes. I did…I really was in love with you, Karen. I think a part of me still is, I just hadn’t realized that I was still in love with someone else.”

“Well, clearly the obvious solution would have been a threesome,” Karen teased him, trying to elicit another smile, but Matt’s face only darkened further. “What’s wrong?”

“The Hand…the chemical they make, they used people to do it. Kids. Who knows what else they might be doing? But if you let me scope out Asano too, it would relieve a lot of my worries.”

Karen couldn’t tell whether or not he was tailing her as she and Alonzo made their way to the building where Asano had its new offices, but she suspected he was. Sometimes she could swear she felt a tingling on the back of her neck when the Daredevil was around. Alonzo gave her a funny look. “Something up?”

“Uh, no, we’re only about to enter the lion’s den here and I’m rehearsing how I need to act to not completely blow our cover.”

“You’ll be fine. Have some faith in yourself, Page, you only get better by doing it.”

Asano Medical Subsidiaries was now housed in a less prominent but still high-class building. They found it on the floor directory and got in the elevator. Right before the doors closed, Karen saw a figure enter the lobby holding a cane. _Matt…please don’t do anything stupid_ …

They were met by a young, sharply dressed man who beamed and shook their hands. “My name is Ken Yamada, I’m one of Asano’s liaisons. I’ll be the one showing you around our offices. I’m frankly thrilled to finally see us getting some press attention.”

“It’s part of a series the Bulletin is doing. May my photographer take some pictures?”

“Oh, of course! Anywhere you can’t go will be well-marked. Trade secrets and that kind of thing.”

Yamada began rambling off Asano’s history, beginning in Japan and continuing on to their buy-out by Roxxon. “We’ve separated since then; it seemed best to pursue our own economic independence.”

Karen nodded, jotting down notes on her pad. “Your English is really good, by the way.”

He laughed. “My family’s been here for a hundred years, so it ought to be.”

She slapped a hand to her mouth and saw Alonzo looking amused at her out of the corner of her eye. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed—”

“Don’t worry, this is the only place where it doesn’t bother me when people think I’m foreign born, since most everyone working here is. A lot of them don’t speak much English, so they keep a few of us Americans around to handle that.” He gestured them down a hall to a lab, where he introduced them to one of their scientists. Karen went through the motions of interviewing her about Asano’s important work in biomedical research. She wondered how much they knew about what their company was really up to. She hoped it was nothing; they both seemed nice.

“The CEO and CFO are out today, unfortunately, but we do have a great little video prepared on our company. Though to be fair, I am biased since I translated the narration.”

He led them to a small room with a TV and started searching for a DVD. While his back was turned, Alonzo leaned in to whisper, “I think this might be a dud.”

Karen was starting to agree with him. Yamada hadn’t left them alone the entire time. She wondered whether she should plead to needing a bathroom break to go snoop, or whether it would be better to have Alonzo take a try. Was Matt having more luck, wherever he was now?

Yamada finally found the video and stuck it in. “ _Asano Medical Subsidiaries!_ ” a cheerful voice began. It was mostly a repeat of what he’d already told them, but with lots of footage of manufacturing sites and laboratories. Karen’s attention wandered, and she glanced over at Yamada – only to realize he was watching them, not the video. He looked anxious and her brows furrowed.

“Can we have a copy of this?” Alonzo asked when the video finished.

“Sure! Just don’t post it on YouTube or anything, it _is_ copyrighted.” He stood up and shook their hands again. “Oh, and if you need anything else, here’s my number.” Yamada scribbled something on a business card and handed it to Karen. She took it with a polite smile, then noticed what he’d actually written: _Meet me behind the bldg in 30 min._

When they got back to the lobby she showed Alonzo the card. “Maybe this wasn’t a dud after all,” he said, eyebrows rising.

“A whistleblower would be _really_ helpful right about now.” They waited together impatiently in the alley, eyes skirting up and down to make sure the area stayed abandoned.

Sure enough, after half an hour, Ken Yamada came around the corner carrying a large bag. He was glancing over his shoulder nervously. “I’m glad you came.”

“Your note left us curious,” Karen said.

“Look, I need to know: is this really a profile piece, or are you investigating us? Because I’ve been kind of figuring that would happen for a while now.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve worked as a liaison for Japanese companies for years now out on the West Coast, I know their ins and outs, and these guys? They’re fishy as heck. This was supposed to be my dream job, coming out to New York City, and instead it’s like, crap, I’m in way over my head with this.” He ran a hand through his hair. His palms looked damp with sweat.

“What made you suspicious?”

“Little things at first. You know the image of Japanese people hanging out in karaoke bars getting drunk? That’s not based on nothing, a lot of companies use it as a way to loosen up employees, get their honest opinions, I did it a bunch of times in the past. We’ve _never_ done that here. The higher-ups, they acted like I’d proposed flying to Mars when I brought it up once. And I could overhear them talking to each other, when they thought no one was listening and…they talk _weird_. Super formal and old-fashioned. Like something out of a period piece movie, it’s freaky. I got a little suspicious about the books, too, things didn’t always add up right.” He opened his bag and pulled out a thick file of papers. “So I started digging, and I realized they must be doing things off the books.”

“Any idea what?” Alonzo asked.

“I thought maybe mistresses or some embezzling, but then I…okay, I hacked a few files on their system, and I found their off the book records. But it _still_ didn’t make sense. There were anonymous streams of income coming in, and not enough expenditures going out. Plus I’m not sure whether some of the research labs we supposedly run even exist outside of paper. I found records of shipments – things like bulk orders of food and property purchases that made no sense. Whatever is happening, it’s  _off_ off the books.”

“So, what?” Alonzo had folded his arms tight across his chest. “They got connections to the yakuza or something?”

“ _The_ yakuza? You know _bouryoku-dan_ are like the mafia, right? It’s not one big group, there’s dozens of organizations. Some of them are still just street gangs, but the big ones are heavily into finance now, they’re like Goldman Sachs with guns. And you learn all about them if you help Japanese businesses, if only so you can work around them. Believe me, if this was any yakuza syndicate, I’d know. I have no clue what the hell these guys are into and that’s what freaking terrifies me.”

“Can we look at the files?” Karen asked.

He shoved them into her hands. “Here, take them, all of them. I’ve seen all I need to. Can I give you a warning, though? There was a note about something _big_ arriving next week, the twenty-first, I think, which lo-and-behold is when the bosses are all having a conference uptown they won’t tell us about.”

“What do you think is happening?”

“I don’t know, but I am not staying around to find out. I’m going on vacation to see my family back in California, and then I am turning in my letter of resignation at the end of it. Let the costumed heroes we’ve got running around here handle it. Hell, I even thought about taking this information to Stark Tower, but it seems like the Avengers are always out. Too busy saving the planet to care about what’s happening on a local level, I guess.”

“Hey man, you’re the hero here,” Alonzo told him. “We were looking at some of the money going into Asano, this is going to save our story.”

Yamada heaved a sigh of relief. “Good. I will read it from the other side of the country.”

Karen and Alonzo emerged from the alleyway still too stunned to talk about what had just happened. All she could think to say was, “Should we hail a cab? Go right back to the Bulletin?”

“That’s probably the best idea—” he began, but her eye caught Matt watching them from across the street.

“Actually, Alonzo, you take the files and go on ahead of me, I’ll follow right after you.”

“Is something wrong?”

“I saw a friend I’ve been meaning to talk to, it shouldn’t take too long.”

She helped him snag a cab (pretty white women usually got faster service than short black men) then crossed the street to meet Matt. “Did you hear all of that?”

“I did. I walked the lobby, trying to sound out whether there were any hidden rooms at the offices, and when that led to nothing I followed you two outside.”

“What do you think?”

“The archaic speech would match what Stick said about how old some of them are. The bulk food purcahses make sense too; apparently even the undead need to eat.”

“What do you think it is they’re bringing here?”

“I’m not sure. Everything I read made me assume that the thing they’re trying to bring out – the call it _Kemono_ , it means “the Beast” – I thought it was trapped somewhere in Japan. But if they’re planning to do the summoning _here_ ,” he frowned. “I may need to adjust my theories. It might not _physically_ be on Earth.”

“Don’t tell me you’re buying into the mystical explanation?”

“Not exactly. It’s more like…I’m learning that there’s more to this universe than we might realize. Different layers, not all of which follow the same laws of physics ours does. If it’s coming in from another plane, or whatever you want to call it, it might not matter _where_ it emerges.”

“Does this reevaluation by any chance have to do with the magical dragon-powers guy?”

Matt balked for a moment, then scowled. “Wow, Claire, why don’t you start advertising for us?” He sighed. “Yeah, it does, in fact, but I can’t understand half of what he says when he tries to explain it, things like pocket dimensions or energy channeling, it’s all mumbo-jumbo to me but I can’t deny it seems to work for him.”

“Or,” Karen had a sudden thought, “maybe whatever it is they’re transporting has this Beast thing in it, some kind o-o-of alien prison that got left behind thousands of years ago, just waiting for some medieval assassins to find it and be used as the pawns of the creature inside…” she stopped herself. “Great, now it’s starting to sound like _I’m_ the one losing my mind.”

“I’ll take all theories at this point. If there’s anything new in the files, anything that might help us figure out how to stop this, how to get her back safely…”

Karen felt the atmosphere turn heavy even without him saying her name. “If…if you save her, are you…will the two of you…?”

He shook his head harshly. “I can’t even think about that right now, Karen.”

“Right, you’ve got to focus on finding Elektra and getting her back—”

“No, I mean because stopping what’s coming might mean we have to kill her!” he snapped. Heads turned to stare at them, a few pedestrians apparently having caught the word “kill.” Matt’s face, meanwhile, had crumpled up, as he bit his lip and took a slow breath to calm himself. In a lower voice, he continued, “They need a vessel of some kind to control it, and they want to use Elektra. If they’re successful…I keep telling myself it’s okay, that she chose to die in the first place, it was her vindication, that-that she wasn’t what everyone said she was, but…”

“That doesn’t make it any better,” Karen said softly. It tore her up to see him whenever he was in this much pain. “I get it, Matt, but…don’t. I don’t care what it takes, don’t let her die again. Fight for her. You’ve…you’ve been a wreck ever since she died, I hate seeing you like this. If bringing her back can bring back the Matt Murdock I used to know…you say I don’t give up on people, but you’re probably better at that than I am. Don’t give up on her.”

“I’m not as infallible as you think I am, Karen.” Matt’s hands twisted on his cane. “I’ve seriously thought about killing people. I’ve wanted to.”

“So have I,” she said. His eyebrows rose over his glasses, and she shrugged. “You don’t know everything about me, Matt. You never did. I’m not the perfect woman you wanted me to be.”

“I know. I can tell sometimes that you’re hiding things from me, but I guess I didn’t really want to know. I wanted to…keep that image of you in my mind. Just promise me you’ll be care—”

“If you finish that sentence I am going to break your cane over your head,” she said, half-exasperated. “You don’t get to talk to me about being careful, okay? I know what I’m getting into now, and at least I’m not trying to fistfight it.”

“Fine, fine. But I say the same thing to Luke Cage, and he’s bulletproof, so it’s not meant as an insult. It’s just…me.”

In the cab, Karen tried to absorb the implications of what Yamada had told them. Matt was right, it sounded a lot like what he’d learned about the Hand. But it also raised an entirely new set of questions, like who else was funding Asano? Did Reynard know what was going on? The former councilman was still ensconced in his home, but his families were currently outside of the city. Did he know something was coming?

Her contemplation was interrupted by a notification on her phone. She had several news alerts set on it, many of them innocuous and movie-related, but this was not one of them. Ever since Ellison made her quit covering Frank, she’d been watching to see if he showed up in anyone else’s news. Now she had a story popping up in her phone about two leg-breakers for one of the mafia families who’d turned up dead earlier that morning. Witnesses reported, unsurprisingly, seeing an armed man in black who they were certain was the Punisher.

Well, at least now she knew Frank was finally back on his feet…

Alonzo helped Karen read through the papers Yamada had given them, and it took the rest of the day and into the evening. Yamada had handed them Asano on a golden platter; the two of them agreed he’d missed his calling as an investigator of some kind, he’d been so intensely thorough in his documentation and discoveries. As it neared ten o’clock, Alonzo rubbed his eyes. “I don’t think I want to read more of this, or else I’m never going to get to sleep tonight. This is nightmare shit right here.”

“No kidding.” Karen knew it was even worse than Alonzo could imagine. The files they had hinted at a small battalion people being housed and fed somewhere, medical supplies and chemicals that went to nowhere, sources of income that went way beyond Reynard’s measly bribe – they’d found that quickly enough – and above all that mysterious shipment that seemed the lynchpin of everything, but remained unexplained. It all confirmed Matt’s description of the Hand a dozen times over, save for the question of what on earth “the Beast” was, or how it was going to come to New York City.

She barely slept that night, but dragged herself into work in time to be there when the three of them presented all their findings to Ellison. Explaining everything Yamada had given them took a long time, and Ellison’s eyes kept getting bigger and bigger as they talked. When they were finally done, it was Angela who gave a low whistle. “Oh my God. All I got was the evidence that Asano gave a huge unscheduled donation to Metro General the same night that a police call went in that was mysteriously never followed up on. This Yamada, he’s a one in a million.”

“No kidding,” Ellison said. “This,” he held out a hand over the stacks of papers spread out on his desk, “is what we need. We’re going to run this as soon as we can, front page. You two need to get writing on this ASAP, give me a workable article that explains all this within the attention spans of our readers, and Alonzo, any photos you took, send them to me. We’ll _all_ go to Reynard for a statement if we can, but this is much bigger than him at this stage in the game. From now on, Asano is the focus of this story. And we’re probably going to have to turn everything Yamada found over to the police so they can—“

He was interrupted by a sudden hubbub outside of his office. Ellison frowned and opened his door. Outside everyone was running around frantically, the assistant editor looking swamped, shouting over the noise, “Where’s the courtroom unit? Call them back from the Anderson trial, this is more important!”

“What’s going on?” Ellison demanded.

Stantacki was closest and the one to answer. “CNN broke it before anyone.” He thumbed to the TV screen mounted on the wall behind him. “They’ve just announced the date for Wilson Fisk’s appeal trial to begin. It’s the twenty-second.”

His editor stood in stunned silence for a moment before rushing out into the fray. “Okay, everyone, calm down, let’s start handing out the assignments…”

Karen didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know it would be this soon, they’d have to get everything prepared for Olmos right away, she needed to call Jessica and Matt…

It was Alonzo who broke her reverie. “The twenty-second,” he said quietly. “That’s only one day after that shipment arrives.”

She looked at him incredulously. “Coincidence?”

Angela shook her head. “We better look closely at who _else_ has been giving money to Asano…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The description of the yakuza as "Goldman Sachs with guns" is not mine; I took it from _Tokyo Vice_ , a good introduction to organized crime in Japan...if you're willing to read some genuine nightmare fuel. It's a good book, I recommend it, but it comes with all the trigger warnings. _All_ of them.


	18. This is not what I had planned for this evening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes, you get two chapters at once, because I actually wrote this one before I finished chapter 17.

Jessica arrived at Josie’s to find that Karen wasn’t alone. “Uh, who’s he?”

“Jessica, this is Matt Murdock. He was a lawyer at the firm I used to work for.”

“Hi.” Matt stretched out a hand and she shook it, still looking baffled.

“Are you…?” Jessica waved a hand around her eyes.

“Blind? Yeah. The glasses and the cane kind of give it away, don’t they?”

“He’s going to help us with Steve Olmos, and I thought it was time you two finally met.”

“Okay,” Jessica said as she took a seat next to them at the table. “Are you going to be his legal defense or something?”

“No, actually, he’s going to be Olmos’ bodyguard.” Karen gave a dramatic flourish of her hand. “Jessica Jones, meet the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen.”

For an instant, her friend’s jaw dropped, though she quickly snapped her mouth shut. “But…blind…oh, ugh, your powers, you’ve got like radar sense or something like that.”

“Or something like that,” Matt confirmed with a nod.

Jessica responded by crumpling up one of the napkins on the table and throwing it as his head. Matt caught it mid-air. Then she held up a hand. “How many fingers?”

“Three. And I can actually tell a lot more than that. Like how you had about three shots of whiskey today, probably around lunchtime, which was also when you woke up, I’d guess. Unless you waited a few hours to shower.”

“ _Jesus_ ,” Jessica grumbled. “That is way more useful than being able to jump really high.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Karen said. “Anyway, now that we’ve got that out in the open, I’m gathering all of you here because I think it’s time we finally compared notes and started working together. There’s just one more person…”

As she said it, the new arrival walked towards the table, only to stop the moment he saw who was there. “Karen,” Foggy said slowly, “when you asked me to meet you here, I sort of figured we’d be _alone_.”

“Sorry. But all three of you sent emails asking me to meet with you tonight, and I’m tired of repeating myself, explaining the situation over and over to different people. So sit down and hear us out.”

Foggy’s eyes were fixed on Matt, his face going back and forth between various levels of frowning. He took a seat reluctantly. “Are we all here to talk about Fisk?”

“Yes.” Matt folded his hands on the table. “I don’t know if Karen has told you anything—”

“I haven’t.” She filled him in on Olmos and how he intended to help them, and how they planned to keep him safe. She left Frank’s name out of it, simply identifying him as a former inmate of Rikers. “– and…well,” she concluded, “when you contacted me I thought, maybe you could help him out in getting police protection for him and his girlfriend.”

“Of _course_ I will!” Foggy slammed a fist against the table. “If it means taking out Fisk, I would eat broken glass – literally. You should’ve come to me with this earlier, I could already be working on his case instead of…” He made a sour face. “The reason I invited you here is because now that Fisk’s appeal is going to trial, with the legal team he wound up choosing, I am finally free to vent about how some of the people at my law firm _seriously_ considered taking him on as a client.”

“What?!” Jessica looked appalled. “Jeri was going to represent _Wilson Fisk_?”

“Actually, she was the one who resisted. She asked me and Marci for advice, and took it, which is why we’re _not_ representing him. I mean, wow, if you have evidence against him I am so on board, I will do it pro bono, off the clock, and I’m willing to bet Marci will help too.”

“Good. But that’s not what I actually emailed Karen for, or why I wanted to meet Jessica. It’s the timing of the trial date.”

Karen nodded. “Right, I’ve been investigating the Hand, you know, the group I told you about?” That was addressed to Foggy. “They’re planning something the day before Fisk is set to be transported from Riker’s to a closer location. And one of my coworkers has found some money going into Asano that she _thinks_ came from Fisk’s offshore accounts.”

“Wait, what the hell is the Hand? Or Asano?” Jessica was looking back and forth between them for answers.

“I’ll explain later,” Matt said.

“Why not now?”

“Well, I thought it would work better if I explained to you along with the rest of the team.”

“The…team?”

“If the Hand is planning a major operation, I need all the help I can get, and I’ve heard good things about you.”

“I don’t know what she’s told you,” Jessica pointed at Karen, “but she’s overselling me. I’m not hero material.”

“Actually, it was Claire Temple who gave you the glowing recommendation.”

“Oh.” Jessica hesitated. “Um, is…is the bulletproof guy you worked with that one time a part of the team?”

“Luke? Yeah. If you pin him down and ask him point-blank, he’ll endorse you too. I don’t know what happened between you two personally, but I think he’d be okay working with you professionally.”

Jessica remained silent, then stood up. “I’m getting a drink.”

“Do you really want to show up to our meeting drunk?”

“Hey, if I come up with a better way to deal on the way to the bar, I’ll let you know.”

Foggy rose from his seat right behind her. “Forget about drinks for me, though. Or the booty call I was planning. Give me Olmos’ information and I’ll call him tonight.”

“Foggy, _please_ stay—” Karen begged as she wrote out the telephone number.

“He doesn’t have to if he doesn’t want to,” said Matt.

“No! Stop this! We are all of us on the same team, even if we’re doing it different ways! May-maybe we can’t be a law firm together, but if the two of you don’t learn how to cooperate again, everything we’re working for will be shot to hell.”

Foggy looked at Matt for a long time, and she could tell from the tension in his shoulders that Matt must have had all his senses tuned on his old friend. He was the one who finally broke it. “Look, Foggy, I’m sorry about…about how I let you down. I had to make my choice, but that didn’t mean I had to leave you out in the cold. I should’ve…I should’ve handled it differently. I…I betrayed our friendship, and I can never undo that.”

“You’re damn right,” he replied, with real anger in his voice, but a smile was starting to play around his lips. “I have to inform you, though, that I’m going to need apologies for the next year or two, no, make it a round _decade_ , before you’re off the hook, Matthew Murdock.”

“One of the advantages of being Catholic is that you get used to penance,” Matt quipped back, and then Foggy really did break into a grin.

“Okay, turn off the charm before I forgive you completely, because you haven’t even come _close_ to earning that yet. I’ll let you – all of you – know how it goes with Olmos, okay? Especially if he doesn’t believe I’m not some trick of Fisk’s.”

Jessica returned then, briefly glancing at Foggy as he exited the bar. She was empty-handed. “I thought of something better. You said you needed any help you can get? Well, I’ve got this friend who knows krav maga and would go absolutely bonkers if you invited her to join a superhero team. I called her, she’s on her way right now.”

“Friends always help,” Karen agreed.

“That still only makes five of us, we’re going to be short-handed. If Fisk is doing what I suspect – using the Hand as a distraction to make some kind of escape attempt when he’s transferred - we’ll need to somehow cover that.”

“Maybe we should let the cops handle him,” Jessica offered. “They _are_ good for something, sometimes.”

“Not when it comes to Fisk,” Karen said with a shake of her head. “He has plans within plans and I’ll bet he’s wagering that whatever the Hand is doing will keep the police occupied.”

“Right.” Matt took a deep breath, tapping his fingers on the table anxiously. “Okay, I absolutely hate to say this but…we’re not the only vigilantes in the city. Does she know who your source is?”

“Uh-huh.”

“And he really has promised not to kill Fisk before you get him to trial?”

“Hold up,” Jessica broke in. “You can _not_ seriously be thinking about letting the Punisher loose on this, right?”

“I don’t approve of his methods either, but he’s a one-man army, if anyone can do it, it’s him. Just…make it clear we want Fisk _stopped_ , not killed, and preferably without a pile of bodies around him. Can you get in contact with him, convince him to help?”

“For all I know he’s already looking into Fisk’s transfer.” Karen gave Jessica an apologetic look. “Maybe you can’t see how desperate we are here, but once you know what we’re up against…”

“Do they have superpowers too? Is this like Ultron redux or another alien invasion?”

“It’s something nobody’s faced before. We should get going as soon as your friend gets here.” Matt paused and turned to Karen. “Do you want to come too? Half of everything I know about the Hand’s plans comes from you at this point.”

She thought about it. The idea was tempting, getting to meet all the superpowered individuals she’d been following from a distance. But at the same time, maybe it was better that she didn’t know. Karen was carrying around enough secrets already. “I think I’m going to have my hands full bargaining with Frank tonight. Plus I have drafts of our article on Asano to revise, Angela and I are probably going to be passing it back and forth on Google docs all night.”

Karen left Jessica to ply Matt for answers and hastened down the street to a corner quiet enough to make a phone call. “Frank?”

“I saw the news,” he answered.

“Then you can probably guess this is a business call. I need to talk with you.”

“We’re talking right now, ain’t we?”

“No, I mean in person. It’s that important.”

“’kay.” Frank was silent for a while. “Bench at Central Park, near Tavern on the Green. I can meet you there in fifteen minutes.”

“Thanks,” Karen hung up and started walking as fast as she could.

She was three blocks along when she noticed she was being followed. It was as she was waiting at a traffic light; she caught sight of a man walking behind her. As he approached, she realized he was looking right at her, almost predatorily, but when their eyes met, he suddenly became fascinated by the urban wall art. Karen wanted to believe it was a coincidence, but for the next three blocks, every time she glanced over her shoulder, there he was, not more than ten yards behind her. _Shit_. And she didn’t know how to lose him.

Frank was sitting on the park bench where he’d said he would be, head slouched to hide his face, but that wouldn’t help; everything about their encounter was going to scream “meeting a source.” Her mind flicked through possibilities, how to conceal this while knowing how bad her acting was. Then she remembered Alonzo’s advice: build off something real.

Karen strode up to the bench with a big smile and sat down right next to Frank, shoulder to his. He raised his head, surprised, and she used the chance to lean in and kiss him, sweetly, on the cheek. “Hey babe!”

Frank looked at her as if she’d grown a second head.

“I caught a tail on the way here,” she said through tight lips. “Play along.”

For half a second it seemed as though he wasn’t going to follow her lead, then his face cracked in a big grin, and he lifted his arm up to loop around her shoulders. “What was it you needed to talk to me about so bad?”

“Well,” Karen tucked her hair back behind her ear and shifted her eyes away from his. Having him look at her with lovey-dovey eyes, even pretend ones, was unsettling, but she hoped she looked coy to anyone watching. “Wilson Fisk may be using that corrupt company I was investigating as a way to cover up an escape plan. He’s getting transferred the same day they’re bringing something big into the city. And Matt thinks, and I agree,” here Karen placed a hand on Frank’s knee and looked back up at him, “that you’d be the _perfect_ person to take care of it while they’re busy fighting elsewhere.”

Frank placed one hand over hers, and toyed with her hair with the one around her shoulder. “And what if I decide to stick a bomb under his transport, now that you’ve told me all this?”

“Because the guards driving it might be innocent and that’s against your code. Besides, if you break your promise to me, that’s no more dog sitting, no more sympathetic ear to talk to, no more couches to crash on…” she placed her free hand over his, sandwiching it. “And I know you wouldn’t want to lose all that.”

Their faces were a mere few inches apart, and Karen was struggling to not let her nerves show, to not look over to see whether or not her tail was still there, when Frank leaned in to kiss her. It wasn’t a dainty peck on the cheek the way she’d given him. His mouth was on hers, lips moving, and Karen briefly forgot everything about Wilson Fisk and the Hand and what had she come here for again?

He broke the kiss only to lean his head down to nibble her neck. “You still see the guy following you?” he murmured in her ear.

Karen used the way her neck was turned to cast a swift glance around the area. “Yeah, he is. Watching us behind a magazine, he’s really obvious.”

“Uh huh.” Frank worked his way back up her jawline towards her mouth, stopping just before he reached it to rest his forehead against hers. “Fisk himself is off limits, I get that, but if I see anybody about to get hurt, I’m taking the shot. Promise or no promise.”

“Can’t you shoot them in the arm or the leg?”

“I’ve seen guys blown in half from landmines who still did plenty of damage if they had a gun in their hands. A head shot’s the only way to be certain.” For a moment, she remembered the times she’d seen what those head shots looked like (not as clean as they were on primetime TV), but then Frank took his hand from between hers and ran his fingers along her collarbone. His other hand brought her in closer and they kissed again, longer this time, his tongue sliding into her mouth, and Karen wasn’t having to fake _anything_ about her reaction.

“You’re really good at this,” she told him when he finally moved away, his breath hot on her cheek.

“Yeah, I’m getting better at acting. Had my old neighbors convinced I was a night janitor—”

“That’s not what I meant.” Before her could respond, Karen placed a hand over his lips. “I’ve had a _really_ busy couple of days at work, Frank, I’ve earned a little fun,” and she pulled his face down to meet hers, twisting her body as best as she could to press against his. Her nearest leg rode up onto his lap, her skirt pulling up with it. When he set his hand on her leg, she thought at first that he was finally stopping her. Instead, he ran it up her skirt and along her inner thigh, fingers brushing where her legs met. Karen was about to start moaning when—

“Ugh, get a _room_.”

Karen snapped her head away and Frank ducked his down as two teenagers sharing a set of iPod headphones walked by them, faces disgusted.

“Not a bad idea, actually,” Frank said, leaning in to her ear again. “There’s a cheap hotel about two blocks from here, we check in and wait to see if he follows. Set up an ambush.”

“Right. Sounds like a plan.” Karen nodded, swallowing hard. They stood up together, and Frank kept his arm around her shoulder while she snaked hers around his waist.

“Walk naturally,” he said, still smiling and rubbing little circles with his thumb on her arm.

Karen nodded and leaned her head against his shoulder. “Maybe I should’ve just said everything on the phone after all.”

“Nah, I know sometimes you got to see a person’s face to know they’re going to play along. Did it with you at the start of this, didn’t I? I don’t think he’s recognized me yet.”

“Pretty soon it’s going to be warm enough that wearing a jacket with the collar up like that is going to make you _more_ conspicuous rather than less. Any plans for how we’re going to be able to meet in person then?”

“I may have to come by your place more often. Since your neighbors already think we’re screwing.” With her ear against him, she could hear his gravelly rumble resonating and she gripped his waist tighter. “Almost there,” he added, pointing to a tall, skinny building with a vacancy sign out front.

Inside the lobby, Karen gave Frank a kiss near the door before she went up to the front desk. He studied the wallpaper behind them, keeping his face turned away from the receptionist. “It looks like a slow night,” Karen said conversationally as she took out her credit card.

“Yeah,” said the young man behind the desk. He popped his gum loudly. “The whole sixth floor’s empty.”

“Um, in that case, could you...” Karen took a twenty out of her purse and slid it across the counter. “Could you get us a room up there and try to make it stay that way? We might be a little…loud.”

The receptionist looked over Karen’s shoulder at Frank and smirked appreciatively. “He is _built_.”

“I _know_ , right?” Karen took the room key for 607 and hooked her arm through Frank’s to lead him to the elevator. He kept grinning and waggling his eyebrows at her right up until the doors closed, when it all dropped and his face turned serious.

“Not tonight, but sometime I’ve gotta teach you how to lose a tail.”

“Sorry, that’s not a skill you learn at community college.” Karen was feeling more than a little disappointed at how quickly he’d turned the act off. She sighed, watching the floor numbers glow in sequence. The ancient elevator was slow.

“You’re good at this, too, by the way.”

“Not really, I just follow my friend’s advice about using real nerves to fake—”

“That’s not what I meant,” Frank said, and pulled her up against him to kiss her as the doors opened.

They stumbled into the hallway, and he momentarily pressed her against the wall, groaning into her ear when she nipped his neck. Karen almost melted at the sound, but he grabbed her hand and began leading her towards their room. When they reached the door, she stepped forward to put the keycard in, and he came up behind her, pulling her hair back and kissing her neck. “The floor’s abandoned,” she whispered, “No cameras, you don’t have to do this.”

He didn’t stop, though, until they were inside and the door closed behind them. Instantly he hit the lights and scanned the room before declaring it safe. “Keep an eye on the peephole, see if he comes up.” Frank pulled a heavy gun out of a jacket pocket to check it.

Karen peered outside, trying not to think about being in a hotel room, alone with Frank, with only one bed, and both of them breathing hard after their hallway make out session. “This is not what I had planned for this evening,” she muttered.

“Oh? What was that?”

“Finishing the article on Reynard and Asano…here, read it.” She thrust her phone out to him, not taking her eye off the peephole.

After a few minutes, he asked, “You know why Reynard got involved in this yet?”

“No. We were going to wait for a statement until after the article ran, but now that Fisk is stealing all the headlines, we need something to bring it to people’s attention. Reynard and Fisk aren’t the only ones funding them, by the way, we’re still figuring out where all the money comes from.”

“You gonna release the names once you figure that out?”

Karen was about to say yes, but stopped herself. She looked over to where Frank was standing. “You mean, is the Bulletin going to publish a hit list for you?”

Frank shrugged.

Her good mood was rapidly wearing off. “We still don’t know why any of them are helping Asano,” she turned back to the peephole, “and before we know that, you—oh _shit_ ,” she sucked in her breath, jumping back from the door. “He just walked past, he looked right at our room!”

“Okay. We need to lay a trap. You got your .380?”

“In my purse.”

Frank went to the sink and handed her the ice bucket, gun still held at his side pointing to the floor. “Stick it in here. Go pretend to fill it.” She was about to open the door when he held up a hand for her to wait. He undid the first two buttons of her blouse with his free hand. “You gotta look the part.”

Karen glanced at herself in the mirror, then kicked off her shoes, lifted up her skirt and started to roll down her pantyhose. Frank’s eyes immediately shifted to the other side of the room, color rising in his cheeks. Karen tossed the stockings aside (noticing how wet they were; she was lucky Frank didn’t have Matt’s senses) and tousled her hair. “ _There_. Now I look the part.”

Frank opened the door enough for her to get out and said, loudly, “Come back soon, baby.” Karen made a fake giggle that became a real gasp when he _slapped her ass_ as she left, Christ, he was laying this on thick.

But she wouldn’t deny that the smack had left her with a bit of a confident sway in her hips as she walked down the hallway to the ice machine. She let that rush of self-assurance keep her going when she heard the floorboards squeak behind her and she knew that her tail was coming towards her. Karen ducked into the alcove with the ice machine and placed the bucket in the dispenser slot while keeping her hand firmly around the barrel of her .380.

She’d barely made her preparations when the tail came up to her. “Ms. Page? Can I have a word?”

Karen managed to mask her fear as being startled. “Who-who are you?”

Up close, he was shorter than her, with over-gelled hair, a cheap suit, and a crocodile grin. “I’m with a collections agency, and I’m contacting you in regard to some outstanding debts owed by one of your former employers.”

“I…don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her grip tightened on the gun.

“Matthew Murdock? You were his office assistant.”

“I know we had some debt when we closed, but none of that involved me. Y-y-you should contact him—”

“Ah, well…” He sidled closer to her. “I was hoping _you_ could make this all go away for him. Any papers you have left from your time there, any files…it would all help clearing up his debts.”

Frank came up so quickly Karen didn’t even see him until he grabbed the tail and slammed him face first into the wall. He fell back stunned, sprawling on the floor. Frank stepped forward, gun aimed at the man on the ground in front of him, and placed a foot over his trachea. “Find his wallet,” he ordered Karen. She complied, patting down his pockets until she found a billfold and handed it up to Frank. She then moved away from them both, back against the wall. Frank flipped through with one hand until he found a driver’s license. “Jim Padmore? That your name?”

He nodded, face slightly purple from the pressure Frank was putting on his neck.

“You brought your real ID? Goddamn amateur.” He switched positions, kneeling down so his knee was on Padmore’s chest and the gun barrel was pointed to his temple. “You know who I am?”

His voice came out a near-shriek. “You’re the P—” Frank punched him hard. When Padmore spoke again, lip bleeding, his voice was barely audible. “Th-th-the Punisher.”

“Yeah. I am. And you’re going to tell me exactly what the fuck you’re doing here.”

“L-l-look, I meant it, I work for a collection agency, we don’t do anything illegal, please don’t kill me, I haven’t done anything—”

Frank moved his gun so that it was straight between his eyes. “I ain’t hearing answers.”

“Aw _shit_ ,” Padmore whimpered. “Usually we collect on debts, okay, we’re a legal business! Nothing violent, just pestering people, but we’re good at it and we got this call the other day, four-figure job to collect records from some blind lawyer whose firm went under, I dunno why. The guy said the secretary was probably the weak link, she wouldn’t know better and might hand things over if we made it sound like a normal collection and please, oh God, I don’t want to die!”

 “Who’s the guy?” Frank asked.

“Donovan! Some black lawyer named Donovan!”

“That’s Fisk’s personal legal counsel,” Karen told him, and Padmore’s eyes bugged. She couldn’t blame him, she started to sweat herself the moment she’d said his name.

“Fisk? _Wilson_ Fisk? Aw shit. Aw _shit_ , Christ, I swear I had no idea he was connected to him, _please—_!”

“Shut up,” Frank growled and pressed the barrel flush against his scalp. “Here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to go tell Donovan that the secretary read up on her legal shit and knew better than to help a scumbag like you. Make it believable. Otherwise, I got your name and address up here,” he tapped his head, “and I will hunt you down.”

“You want me to lie to Wilson Fisk? You know what he does to people who betray him!”

“I guess what you gotta ask yourself is, who’re you more afraid of right now: him,” Frank cocked the gun, “or me?”

The dark patch that spread out from the crotch of Padmore’s pants was answer enough. “I won’t tell him jack,” he blubbered. “Shit, I would never have agreed to this if I knew she was fucking _you_.”

Frank nodded and stood up, watching Padmore like a hawk as the shorter man scrambled down the hallway to the elevator. Karen felt so shaky she worried that her knees might give out. “Fisk is after Matt. He’s after Matt, and he’s trying to get to him through me. Do you think he knows? Th-th-that Matt’s Daredevil? Oh God,” her hands flew to her mouth, “I’m so glad you were here.”

He put his gun with hers in the bucket and picked it up before gently taking her by the arm to walk her down the hall. “Yeah. Only problem is, he breaks that easy, Fisk’s men might make him talk too.”

“What’ll he tell them? That I’m the Punisher’s girlfriend? That might actually keep criminals away from me for a while.”

“ _And_ lose you your job _and_ have the cops on your doorstep.”

“The cops!” Karen froze. “Shield law…you threatened to hurt him, that’s a crime, I have to report it…”

“Oh come _on_ ,” he muttered, and pushed open the door to the hotel room that he’d left ajar. “You care about that? After hearing what he said?”

“According to the law of the State of New York—”

“—I’m _dead_ , so who cares?”

“I need to cover my bases here, I’m being careful, I-I’ll say I saw someone brandishing a weapon in the hallway, that should be enough…” She went to the phone, but her hands were shaking so hard that she fumbled the receiver. Frank’s face softened as she swore and tried to pick it up again. He stepped forward and put a hand on her shoulder. Karen almost flinched, but the look of concern in his eyes was enough to make her defenses tumble down. She let out a half-contained sob and leaned in against him, letting him cradle her back with his arms. “I’m sorry, this is just the effect Fisk has on me. He…I’m never going to get away from him, am I?”

“My offer to murder the shit out of him still stands.”

That made her laugh, and she reached around him to grip the back of his jacket. “No…no, we’ve come this far, just…just make sure he doesn’t escape, then we’ll have Olmos and…I hope they put that son of a bitch in solitary for the rest of his miserable life.”

They stood there together for nearly a minute, and Karen felt the arousal that had gone dormant returning, stronger than before. The memory of him taking out Padmore so easily was certainly helping. She pressed her body tight against his, rubbing her hands down his back and planting a kiss against his neck. She was rewarded with a low rumble in Frank’s chest as he shifted a hand up to stroke her hair, pushing her face closer to his skin. She continued kissing him there, until he said, hoarsely, “Make your call. Tell ’em you saw something, and I’ll slip out the back before anybody gets here.”

Karen pulled away so that she could see his face. “You won’t…stay? With me? I could use the company.”

He shook his head. “You call now, chances are they’ll think you’re talking about Padmore, man at the desk downstairs must’ve seen him lurking around. I can’t be here when the cops come knocking at the door to ask what you saw.”

“I know, but—” She faltered. How should she say this? _Please fuck me, Frank, I’m so turned on_? “You can’t leave me here like this, all…wound up, okay? I-I-I…” she trailed off, unable to meet his eyes. “I _want_ you to stay. I’m not looking for a-a relationship or anything, it wouldn’t have to change anything, but I really… _need_ you right now.” She moved her hips against his, just to make her point

The shudder in his breath made her look up and catch his gaze. He’d clearly gotten her meaning. “Look, believe me…I get it, I _really_ get it, but…” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Her leg brushed against his groin, and from the feel of it he wasn’t lying. “You gotta either choose your career or me for tonight. And I ain’t letting you take option #2.”

“So…some other time, then?” Karen said it half as a joke, but from the way Frank kissed her, he hadn’t taken it that way. It was open-mouthed, hungry, desperate, taking her in, and it left her breathless when he finally broke the connection. She could only pant as he swiftly exited the room without another word.

 _Asshole_ , she thought to herself as she tried to regain her composure enough to make the stupid phone call _she’d_ insisted on bringing up. She fibbed to the officer when he arrived  and then lay down on the bed she’d rented. This might not be how she’d _like_ to be using the bed (how many times had Frank unnecessarily kissed her? how much had his eyes screamed that he wanted her?) but she wasn’t going to let money go to waste. Her phone was on the pillow where Frank had left it, and she checked to see if she had any notices from Angela. Instead she had a text from Frank.

> don’t think about fisk tonight. think about me.

Well damn. If that wasn’t permission, what was?


	19. Did you know?

Karen followed Frank along an alley, not taking her eyes off of him walking ahead of her. When he cut sharply left, she hastened forward – the clack of her heels was too loud, if she ran, he’d know she was coming. When Karen rounded the corner, he was gone. She rushed to the next corner, looking left and right. Then she felt a finger touching the back of her head.

“Bang,” she heard Frank say. “Now, what did I do?”

Karen turned around and looked at the street behind him. “The AC unit. Dammit, I forgot to look behind the AC unit to see if you were hiding there.”

“Right. Never forget small places to duck behind. You want to take somebody out, it lets you switch places and _you_ can follow _them_. Or if you don’t want that, you can double back and get the hell out of Dodge. But remember, anybody professional is going to check those spots better than you did there.”

She nodded. It was only about 7 in the morning, but they’d been at this ever since Frank called her at the hotel and said it was time for tail-losing lessons. She’d been exhausted, with only a few hours of sleep, but he’d given her a set of caffeine pills that had yet to wear off.

“Okay, your turn now.” He gestured for her to start walking. She did, feeling painfully aware of Frank’s presence behind her. The night before was still far too vivid in her mind to be as focused as she should be on the tasks Frank was giving her. He hadn’t said a word about what had happened; maybe he wanted to forget it all.

When she reached a corner, she dodged and slipped behind a dumpster. Rather than stay still, though, she pulled off her heels and waited for Frank to walk by. He’d criticized her shoe choice until she pointed out that he’d called her at the last minute when she wasn’t at home. The moment Frank passed her, before he could turn to look for her, she tossed her heels with a clatter down one of the connected alleys. He immediately bolted toward the sound, letting her run behind him in the opposite direction from the way he was headed. It hurt a little to run in stocking feet on the pavement, but she managed to avoid any glass and for a moment she felt certain she’d lost him.

Then, in a gap between two buildings, she saw him running towards her and swore. She veered away from him, and realized she was about to wind up on a main drag. She turned again, having lost all sense of direction, and ran straight into Frank. He put an arm against her throat and pinned her against the wall.

“That wasn’t fair, you know these streets like the back of your hand,” she protested.

“So should you by now. And so will anybody who comes after you, so learn ’em.” He stepped back, shoving her shoes into her arms. Frank looked at his watch. “All right, we’ve been doing this for over an hour, I think that’s enough for today.”

Karen rubbed her throat as she put her shoes back on. “You act like this is easy.”

“It ain’t, but you’ll only improve if we practice. Same time tomorrow?”

She thought of how little sleep she’d gotten, but the run-in with Padmore was as fresh in her mind as their almost-having-sex-in-a-hotel-room. “Sure.”

“Hey, don’t sweat it, you’ll be fine.” He patted her shoulder and went off in the direction of where he’d parked his van next to her car. Karen walked after him, a conspicuous silence hanging over the two of them only disrupted by the sound of their footsteps.

Finally, after they’d passed beyond the more crowded streets, she’d had enough. “We’re not even going to talk about what happened last night, are we?”

Frank kept his eyes straight ahead. “Depends on what you want to talk about.”

“How about how my plan to have us innocently pretend to be a couple ended with you almost groping me in a public park?”

He turned to look at her and sniffed dismissively. “Like you weren’t humping my leg in the hotel room.”

“Only because you started it!”

“You kissed me first!”

“On the cheek! You escalated it pretty quickly.”

Frank stayed stubbornly silent for a while after, as they approached their parking area near one of the old docks. “Look, neither of us was exactly thinking straight last night, okay?”

“Why? Are you still on painkillers?”

“No—”

“And neither of us were drinking, so what’s your excuse?”

“What’s _yours_?” he snapped back. They’d reached his van and he leaned against it, arms crossed and inspecting her closely.

Karen faltered for a moment. “It’s…it’s been a really long time since I’ve been with anyone…”

“Same here,” Frank said, looking straight into her eyes. “But the thing is, I’m a mass murderer on the run from the law, while you can have anybody you want. So why me?”

“Because…” What did she want to say to him? “Because you know me. More than anyone else does. You know everything I’ve done, I haven’t had to hide anything from you. And in spite of all that,” she reached out and touched his chest with her fingertips, “you still want me.”

Frank’s eyes swung away for a moment before coming back. “Look, when all of this calms down, with Fisk and everything, maybe we can have a talk about what happens next.”

She stepped closer to him. “I think we both know what that is.”

He didn’t hedge away from her, but he did duck his eyes. “Come on, we just decided to be friends and now you want…what?”

“Friends with benefits?” Karen put her hand under his chin and lifted his head to look at her. Once their gazes were locked again, she ran her hand through his hair. Their bodies were almost touching. “Like I said, it doesn’t have to change anything, we can still act exactly like we have before, but…when we’re in the mood, we can…you know… _act_ on it.”

She’d been moving her mouth closer to his, but she was waiting for him to cover the last bit of distance. Instead, he turned away. “Can I, uh…can I think about it?”

“I thought _you_ were the desperate one.”

“I’ve still got my dignity.”

“So, what, I’m beneath you?” Karen grinned and let a strand of her hair fall across her face. “I mean, if you say yes, I could _literally_ be benea—” Her phone began to make a chirping noise. “ _Shit_ ,” she muttered, reaching into her pocket.

“What’s that?”

“Alarm. I’m meeting everyone from the Bulletin to confront Reynard as early as we can, in time to have his statement for the noon updates, I…” she looked at him half wistfully, half lustfully. “I wish I didn’t have to do this…”

“No, it’s important, go.” He waved towards her car. “For starters, this’ll let me know if I get to kill him.”

Karen was turning off her alarm when he said it, and she looked at him askance. “‘Get to’? You make it sound as if it’s fun.”

“More like satisfying,” he said bluntly.

Her stomach tightened. “You know what that sounds like, right?”

“Nah, not like that, I told you I don’t get off on this work.But I watch the news or listen to the police radio and when I see shit happen, even shit I _know_ I couldn’t stop, or I know would’ve only been worse if I’d been there, it all just starts up again in here,” he gestured around his head, “and it don’t quit until I _do_ something. Now, Andrew Vann, that taught me I don’t _need_ to kill somebody to get it to stop, which is a load off my mind, let me tell you. But you and I both know that putting ’em in the ground is the most efficient way to get this done.”

“There’s no lifetime achievement award for most criminals killed, Frank. If there was, I think you’d have met it already anyway. You’re up to 117 …”

“That’s your paper’s list, right? I looked that up, you’re missing a bunch of names.”

“What?”

“Like four days ago, there was this guy messing with the working girls in Micro’s neighborhood that I took care of. Nobody said nothing about it. I guess it turns out the best way to get you to not notice me is to just take ’em out one by one instead of all at once.” He’d made little firing gestures at each “one,” and Karen flinched.

“How…how many are we off by?”

“I told you, I don’t keep count.” His voice had gone cool. “Think of it as a gift – your next big story, all the Punisher murders you missed.”

Karen stared at him, faintly horrified, but her alarm went off again (she must have hit snooze rather than dismiss), and she used that as an excuse to get into her car without saying anything to him.

He leaned against the car as she made to shut the door. “Let me know what you find out.”

She simply pursed her lips and gave a quick nod before driving off.

The four of them – her, Ellison, Alonzo, and Angela – gathered not far from Reynard’s penthouse. Her coworkers had come together and were already waiting when she arrived. “Sorry, I lost track of time.”

Angela raised an eyebrow. “Is that the same outfit you wore yesterday?”

Before she could answer, Alonzo jabbed Angela in the ribs. “Come on, we’re not all happily married like you, Manus. Can you blame her after the last couple of days?” Ellison, meanwhile, hid a smile behind a hand.

Karen was thus slightly pink-cheeked when they approached the opulent building that Reynard lived in. He rented the top floor and had been a founding member of its co-op, though he was on probation what with the allegations against him. The doorman hadn’t wanted to let them in, but Ellison persuaded him it was in their best interests to not stymy the free press. When they reached Reynard’s residence, Angela stepped forward to knock on his door.

A woman in scrubs answered. “I’m sorry, we’re not taking any visitors.”

“I’m Angela Manus, and these are my coworkers from the Bulletin. We’d like to talk to the councilman about some of his finances.”

Her eyes darted to the side, as if looking for approval from someone they couldn’t see. “Like I said, no visitors—”

“Tell Reynard it’s about Asano Medical Subsidiaries.”

The woman looked puzzled, but she closed the door. Less than a minute later, it opened again, and she waved them inside. “He says he wants to talk to you. But I’ll warn you, the councilman’s not feeling very well, so make it short.”

The living room had the shades pulled, and Reynard was sitting in a chair, hands folded and waiting for them. “I don’t know what you _think_ you’ve found,” he said as they stood in front of him, “but I’d like to know ahead of time so I can prepare my lawyers for when I sue you.”

Karen had never seen Reynard in person before; that had always been Angela’s job. He was around sixty, his hair silver but still full, and he was dressed impeccably in spite of his self-seclusion. He looked much as he did in photos, save that his cheeks were slightly sunken and he looked as though he’d lost weight. Apparently the stress was getting to him.

“What we’ve found, Mr. Reynard,” Angela said as she lay out their information on his coffee table, “is that you have illegally funneled city money into Asano Medical Subsidiaries through an offshore account.”

“You have my name on those money transfers, I suppose?” he asked scornfully.

“No, but you weren’t careful with the amount as it was transferred, or the timing. Same amount goes in, same amount comes out, same interval of days in between. Patterns are easy to recognize.”

Reynard’s confidant smirk faded.

“Which brings us to Asano itself.” Alonzo took over, setting out photographs of the supposed locations of Asano’s labs that he’d scouted in the last 24 hours, either on his own or through Google Earth. “It’s hard to find a company that does so much medical research on paper and yet has so little going on in real life.”

“All of this,” Ellison pointed to the papers and photos, “isn’t just going to be published in the Bulletin today; we are turning Asano’s records over to the police, because this all looks like fraud to us. Fraud against stockholders, fraud against the government…and for some reason you are one of their financial benefactors.”

“And that’s why we’re here,” Angela continued. “Because we’d like to hear the explanation you give for all of this before we air you out in the court of public opinion.”

Reynard didn’t say a word. He stared blankly at the information they’d gathered for several minutes while the reporters waited him out. Karen was watching him closely, trying to find a tell that would let them know his motivation. A tic for fear (blackmailing), a gulp for culpability (greed), but he was giving her nothing.

The longer he remained silent, the more her eyes began to flicker around the room, taking in little details. The darkened room, the heavy dust on the furniture, the woman in scrubs flitting about in the background, pushing – what was that machine she’d just run into the other room? Karen’s gaze returned to Reynard. His pallor, his weight loss. When the councilman finally raised his head to look at them, he lifted his hands to the arm of his chair, and in a brief instant Karen could see the mark of a needle hole in one wrist.

“Well, you’ve collected a nice set of evidence against this ‘Asano’ company, but anything linking it to me is circumstantial at best.”

“Is that your answer, then?” Angela asked.

“My answer is that I have nothing to answer. You have no evidence linking me to Asano’s suspicious activity, and I hope that your article will reflect that.”

Ellison was taking a breath to continue arguing when Karen quietly piped in, “How long do you have left?”

Reynard froze. _There it was._

“I’m guessing, what, cancer? Something irreversible obviously. You’ve known about it since before the payments began, so the doctors must have given you at least six months.”

The councilman fixed his eyes on her and they were so icy Karen’s nerve almost broke. Fortunately she’d been dealing with worse than him for a while now. “You don’t know—”

“What did Asano promise you? Did they tell you they could keep you alive?”

A vein in Reynard’s forehead started to throb, but his mouth had transformed into a grim line. Karen’s coworkers were staring at her in confusion, but they didn’t interrupt her either.

“Did they tell you how they make it?”

No response.

“They use _children_.”

He didn’t react at all, didn’t look shocked or perplexed or angry, he just…kept looking at her.

“Did you _know_?”

Reynard’s voice was completely calm. “Get out. Now.”

And in that moment, Karen realized he’d known _everything_.

When the woman in scrubs – his personal nurse, obviously – evicted them form the apartment, Ellison wheeled on her. “What the _hell_ was that, Karen?”

“Nothing, I—”

“Not with the reaction you got out of him,” Angela replied. She and their editor both had expressions that demanded immediate answers and made her gulp.

“Look…I-I-I heard rumors, okay? That Asano was investigating a chemical that could keep people alive even when they _should_ be dead, that they used humans to grow it or something, but I don’t have any _proof_ , so I didn’t even bring it up with you, it was too out there. But when I saw the shape he was in, that he had an IV and a nurse…”

“Maybe he’s heard those same rumors,” Alonzo finished for her. “And he don’t care.”

Ellison looked stunned. “Page, that’s…who did you hear this from? The deep background source?”

“Yes. He…he’s a friend, he dated the heiress who divested from Asano for a while and he said that she’d told him all sorts of stories about the shady business her dad had gotten himself tangled up in. But that was all hearsay, which is why I couldn’t use it. And like I said, half of it seemed batshit crazy.”

“Human experimentation, serums to make people stronger…that’s not exactly unheard of,” said Angela. “Look at the original Project Rebirth and all the attempts since then to imitate it. Maybe we can’t publish this right now, but that’s something to look into, especially if the police find more on Asano.”

“Okay, Karen, you go talk to your source on the force, see how things are going with Asano.” They’d bluffed to Reynard, of course; they’d handed the evidence over to the police the evening before, and there was a raid at Asano’s offices going on as they were speaking, before Reynard could have a chance to warn them. Hopefully the wiretap on Asano’s phones were up and they could catch him trying to make a call. “The rest of us…” he looked at Angela and shrugged. “Add in his denial, and publish the damn thing.”

As Karen drove to the precinct to meet Brett Mahoney, she realized her hands were shaking. Not because she was scared or having an anxiety attack but because she was furious. So angry she could barely contain it. Unlike her coworkers, she knew that they were dealing with more than rumors, in which case Reynard had knowingly sided with the worst group of people imaginable.

At a stoplight, she stared long and hard at her phone. It would be so easy to call Frank, to message him, to tell him that Reynard was a willing participant in human experimentation, abduction, murder…she was starting to understand what he meant about some things being _satisfying_.

But then she remembered his pale, sunken face, and decided that she’d rather he die slowly of cancer in a prison cell.

It did remind her, though, that Reynard wasn’t the only scumbag she was currently hunting, or that was hunting her. Instead of Frank, she messaged Matt:

>fisk sent someone after me trying to get info about you

Then, remembering Matt’s tendency to mother hen:

>don’t worry, I’m fine, frank scared him off non-lethally

Brett was on the phone at his desk when she entered the precinct, and he pointed to a chair when she came over to his desk. “Yeah. Good. Finish it and get back here.” He hung up. “So what can we help the Bulletin with in exchange for bringing down a multinational conspiracy to commit fraud? This is going to look nice on my résumé.”

Karen laughed. “Um, well, any connection you find on Reynard, we’d like to be the first one to know.”

“Oh, like how he called Asano about an hour ago, I’m assuming right after you all finished talking to him?”

Karen gave a little fist pump across her chest. “That will look great in follow-up.”

“I’ll tell you, though, we didn’t get any of the higher-ups. I don’t know if it was a coincidence, or if they were tipped off somehow…”

“Our source gave the impression that they weren’t around much.” Most likely they were off setting things up for whatever was arriving next week. They probably weren’t in the tunnels now that Matt had found that particular hideout, but there was still an army of killers out there that needed leaders to handle them.

“Well, I will see about making sure the Bulletin gets front-row at our press conference this afternoon. First question, too. But right now the team over there is still pulling documents and computers and I don’t have much else to tell you. Sorry if you wasted your time driving over here.”

“No, it’s on my way back to the office.” Karen was about to stand up when a thought occurred to her. “Do you…do you keep records of unsolved murders? Ones that stay unsolved over a lot of months?”

“Of course. Ask someone on your crime beat, they should be able to get you a list.” He furrowed his brow at her. “You looking for something related to Asano?”

“Not exactly.”

Back in her office, Karen was starting to feel Frank’s caffeine pills wearing off. She got the listings of unsolved murders for the past year from Johnson, and opened up Excel to begin making a spreadsheet. As she typed, she felt her eyelids drooping. It had been an intense few days, and with so little sleep, she honestly did need to rest, just for a few minutes…Karen put her head down on the desktop.

She was woken by a loud knock on her door. Karen lifted her head, blinking and blurry-eyed, and saw on her computer screen that it was already past noon. She’d been sleeping for almost three hours. “Come in!” she called, as she straightened out her hair.

Alonzo came in, bearing a pizza box. “I saw you were passed out in here through the blinds, and I figured you skipped lunch.”

“I did, thank you, so much.” She cleared a spot on her desk and he set out a paper plate for each of them.

“So, last night was really that rough, huh?”

“Um, yeah, but not for good reasons, unfortunately.” She glanced over at the door, which he’d luckily closed behind him. “Don’t tell Ellison, but I caught somebody trying to follow me home and I went to a hotel to shake them off my tracks.”

“Did it work?”

“It did, but I didn’t get much sleep as a result.”

“You think it was related to all of this? Phones have been ringing the last couple hours from investors wanting to know all the details, Roxxon giving us conflicting statements that they didn’t know what Asano was up to, or maybe they suspected and that’s why they dumped them, it’s been very exciting.”

“Asano’s not the only case I’ve been working on. And there are other people with grudges against me. Not just from my writing on the Bulletin, but from when I was back at Nelson & Murdock.”

“Play it safe, then. And feel free to call me, if I can’t help I’ve got friends and family around the city who would show up in a flash to give you a ride.”

They finished eating the pizza as Alonzo filled her in on the details of the incoming news. In spite of the two of them bringing in Yamada’s motherlode of evidence, this was still Angela’s case, and she was going to be leading the follow-up. That was fine by Karen. She didn’t do this for the glory, and she had other things to be concerned about.

She was finishing up her spreadsheets that afternoon when Foggy called her. Karen didn’t want to quit her typing, so she stuck him on speaker-phone. “What’s up?”

“Mr. Olmos and I are getting along fabulously and I am contacting D.A. Tower about what it would take to get protection for him and his girlfriend, maybe even her extended family.”

“Good. He believed you?”

“I had to call Jones and get her to confirm me, but yeah, he did. And I’m figuring out with Matt when they’ll need help from the Devil to get to a safe house in one piece.”

“You and Matt talked? How did that go?”

“Oh, awesome. He spent the first two minutes apologizing for how he should have noticed that he head wasn’t in the game on the Castle trial and should’ve let me take lead for the whole thing. I am going to enjoy the next decade.” When Karen only gave a slight chuckle, he asked, “Hey, are you on your computer or something? I sense I am not getting your undivided attention.”

“I am, actually. I’m doing math, which while it was not my worst subject was also not my best.”

“Doesn’t the Bulletin have specialists for that kind of thing?”

“I don’t know. This is…I’m looking at rates of unsolved murders. They were high while Fisk was running things, a lot of them were solved when we took him down, and they actually stayed pretty low for what I’m thinking of as the Daredevil Era. Then there’s this spike when the Punisher first showed up, of course, then he was caught, those got solved, the level goes back to normal again, except…” she trailed off.

“Don’t leave me hanging here, Karen, this sounds foreboding.”

“I’m not sure if it’s statistically significant, but if the rates had been exactly the same as before, there should be roughly twenty fewer unsolved murders at this point than there are.”

Foggy was quiet on the other end of the line. “So which of our moving pieces of mayhem do you think is responsible?”

“Frank Castle. I think they’re all Frank. I’m looking at all the unsolved cases individually now, trying to find people with prior criminal records, or people killed during a crime where the witnesses mysteriously couldn’t identify who did it, and…there’s about twenty that would fit his profile.”

“Wow.” Foggy let out a heavy breath that rasped on the phone. “Well, murdering people _is_ kind of his thing. It wouldn’t surprise me that we’ve only caught the most obvious cases.”

Karen nodded. “Yeah, I guess.” She scratced her scalp, realizing she hadn’t washed her hair properly at the hotel and that she felt overall grimy in yesterday’s clothes. “At the moment, I have more pressing things to be working on, so this gets added to my long stack of backburner projects.”

Just because it wasn’t pressing, however, didn’t meant it wasn’t heavy on her mind. He did this intentionally, she knew that, reminding her of what he did. It was his way of testing her, and she could pass it, but she wouldn’t if she took it right now. As the day wound down and Karen tidied up to head home, she sent Frank a message:

>i haven’t slept in well days, let’s reschedule practice


	20. You up for this again?

Karen hadn’t been sure if she could work up the nerve to practice with Frank again until Matt called her, demanding details about what had happened with Padmore. She gave him as much as she felt comfortable sharing, leaving out her first-base antics with Frank. “Calling the police was smart,” he told her. “You need to cover all your bases, especially since you weren’t there to consult a source but to ask him to commit what is technically a crime. Which, you know, I asked you to ask him, so if it comes time to fall on that sword I’ll do it.”

“I’d rather that you read up on shield law as much as you can instead.”

“Oh believe me, I have, ever since I found out you were working with the Punisher again. He’s right, you know.”

“About what?”

“That this Padmore guy might crack under Fisk’s pressure. That’s part of why I’m glad you reported the menacing, you’re getting dangerously close to having your connection to Frank Castle exposed.”

“It would be my word against some hired goon, Brett at least would vouch for me, right?”

“Fisk has ways of getting to people, you know that. Whatever measures you can take to protect yourself, take them.”

So after two nights of restful sleep, Karen was out for another early morning lesson with Frank, this time in pants and flats. He’d given her outfit an approving look before they went through his exercises. They’d gone to a part of town she wasn’t familiar with; Frank had reminded her of her homework assignment to learn the streets in Hell’s Kitchen, and said they wouldn’t be back until she’d finished. In the meantime, “Especially with your work, you may wind up somewhere you got no clue about. So we’re going to work on two things: finding busy places to lose someone quickly and stopping someone who’s after you.”

The first went pretty fast, as “get somewhere where there are a lot of people and you can call the cops” was standard office advice at the Bulletin. When she lost Frank easily the first three times they practiced, he gave her a “Well done,” and they went into the alleys.

“I’m not sure if I’m ready for this.”

“I told you what to do, let’s see you try to do it.”

Karen started out down a street, clutching her bag, until she heard the tread of feet as Frank began stalking her. She kept her eyes peeled as she turned a corner, searching for anything she could use for hiding or evasion. Unfortunately she was met with blank concrete walls. _Just keep going_ , she thought. Another turn, then there was a recessed stairwell leading down to a basement. The doorway didn’t seem much used, so she took a risk. Rather than take the steps, she jumped them, and fortunately the build-up of sodden leaves and garbage left over from the winter masked the sound of her descent.

At first she was convinced that she couldn’t have tricked Frank so easily, but she heard him pass by, then begin walking faster. She moved up the steps as fast as she could while staying quiet. If she was too slow, he’d start retracing his steps and it would all be over.

Frank was still walking quickly, scanning ahead of him, but she could tell he was ready to reverse course. As he slowed down, she sped up until she was right on him, catching him as he turned around completely. Karen grabbed him by the jacket and _dropped_ , doing what he advised and not pulling with her arms but instead letting her entire weight fall to the pavement. Frank was bigger and tougher than her, but even he toppled when hit with more than a hundred pounds of sudden mass. He fell half under her, and Karen pointed a finger at his forehead. “Bang.”

He was winded but managed a low whistle of surprise. “Fast learner.”

“Thanks.” They sat up, and Frank scooted over to place his back against the wall, still getting his breath back. Karen joined him.

“I figured the first time you’d screw up and use your arms, but I guess I underestimated you.”

“I amaze you sometimes, don’t I?”

“That you do.” He sniffed a little and gave her a questioning look. “You pissed off at me right now?”

“What? What makes you say that?”

“I felt some anger in that slam. I ain’t saying it’s a bad thing, anger can make you stronger, you just got to keep it under control or else it’s a weakness.”

“He says, from personal experience.”

“No shit. But you still haven’t answered my question. You mad at me?”

Karen thought hard, but decided she didn’t want to keep it from him. She reached into her bag and handed him a sheet of paper. “Tell me how many of these are yours or whether we’ve got another copycat.” She waited as Frank read over her list of names and descriptions, his face grim.

After a few minutes he handed it back to her. “These two ain’t me,” he said, pointing to a wife abuser who’d been shot and a bookie who’d been stabbed. “But you’re also missing a pawn store owner I beat to death for trying to sell me kiddy porn back when I was hunting the Central Park gangs, so it’s about even.”

“I thought you said you didn’t count.”

“I don’t. But even though I get some gratification in knowing I’m taking out the trash, that don’t mean I don’t _remember_. You carry the weight of the two you killed, right? Even though you don’t regret it?” When she nodded, he continued. “Same for me. I don’t let myself forget because every one of those deaths is a part of me. It’s what I’ve done, what I am. I can’t count ’em up easy, but I can replay every single one of ’em in my head.”

Karen looked back at her paper. “So nineteen. Nineteen that we missed. Which means your total is…136, not 117.”

“Yeah. And? Was 120 your cutoff point for leaving me or something?”

“No, I just…I don’t know, Frank. It’s a lot in less than ten months. If you keep going at this rate, you’ll be at almost a thousand in five years.”

“I doubt I’m gonna live that long, so don’t worry too much for me.”

Karen didn’t hide her shock. “Don’t talk like that!”

He shrugged. “I’ve got how many people who want me dead? It’s gonna happen, I just want to take as many of ’em with me as possible. I ain’t looking forward to it necessarily, but I ain’t got much holding me here.”

“Oh come on, Frank, you’ve got me, and Micro, and Max, and everyone in the city who you’ve helped. That’s more than much.” Karen folded the paper back into her bag. “I…I’ve had times in my life where I’ve wondered whether dying might be the best option. I never acted on it, but I thought about it. So I get where you’re coming from, that maybe it doesn’t matter if you die. But it matters to us, Frank. It matters to _me_. I don’t want you to die. I mean, obviously you will someday, but I’d like it to be when you’re old.”

“Probably in some mental ward, right?”

“Well, it’d be better than an early grave. They’ll have Jell-O.” Frank didn’t find that funny. “My point is, this list is not all of you.”

“But it is _part_ of me. What I do, what I live for. And that’s _your_ problem.” He poked a finger at her chest. “You want to ignore it, pretend like it ain’t there.”

Karen took a deep breath. “Yeah, I do. And like you said, that’s _my_ problem. In the meantime, you need to work on your own shit, Frank. You _are_ the Punisher, but you’re also a human being with friends and a pet and all that is worthwhile too.” She hadn’t meant to be this effusive, but from Frank’s thoughtful face she could tell it had been worth it. “By the way,” she added, tapping at her bag, “what you did to that most recent guy was nasty. I mean, he was still _alive_ when you cut off his genitals.”

“You should’ve heard what the girls he visited told me. Don’t cry over him.”

Karen hesitated. “If…if you chat with prostitutes, do you…or is that what you meant by still having some dignity?”

“Yeah, kind of. I mean, none of ’em were forced into it, or else I’d’ve gone after the ones who did it, but it ain’t exactly their dream job either. It’s just the best work they can get right now.”

“So they’re, what, the Wal-Mart cashiers of the sex trade?”

“Heh, that’s a pretty good way of putting it, actually. It’s a shitty business I don’t want to give my money to, but that don’t mean the people working in it should be treated like trash. They call the police, they get arrested; they call me, their problem gets solved.”

“Maybe I should tell Matt he’s missing a demographic in need.”

“Can you imagine choir boy hanging around with hookers?”

“I don’t know, if I remind him that Jesus did, he’d probably jump right on it.” That got a genuine laugh out of Frank, his face lighting up in a way that made Karen feel warm inside. “You know, it’s always good to be reminded that no matter how much your head is screwed up, your heart is still basically in the right place.”

“Eh, well, mostly I do it ’cause I hate bastards who hurt other people, helping out is more of a nice side effect.”

“It’s the result that counts.” The way they were both smiling casually, at ease next to each other, with Frank actually content for once, she wondered if he might kiss her. Or should she kiss him? Would it ruin the mood or perfect it?

The moment was lost when Frank abruptly cleared his throat. “You up for this again? Tomorrow morning?”

Karen shook her head. “I have to admit to myself that I am not a morning person, this is wearing me out.”

“Not a problem, we can do this in the evening. You call me tomorrow night, let me know when you can come over and I’ll give you a location for a meet. No running this time, so you can wear those skirts and heels you like so much.” He stood and helped her to her feet. “By the way, I read your article. Reynard didn’t give you much of a statement, did he?”

Karen looked at her feet, then sighed. “I think he knew about what Asano was up to. I can’t prove it, but it’s my hunch. But, Frank, he’s going to get justice the legal way, okay? Focus on stopping the people who the police let fall through the cracks.”

He nodded. “I’ll keep my eye on it all the same. And call me tomorrow night.”

“I won’t forget.”

Her day at work was spent lining up interviews with freed former staff members at Asano for Angela. Some of them were believably dumbfounded enough by the revelations that they’d already been released. A few confessed to knowing about off-the-book dealings and fraud, but swore up and down they’d still thought the company was mostly legit. A few others had clammed up and were under close watch in prison. Soldiers in the Hand’s army off the street, Karen thought, even if their commanders were lost to the wind.

About mid-afternoon, her phone went off with “Bad Reputation.” “Hey,” Jessica said when she picked up, “what’re you up to after work?”

“Um, I didn’t have anything planned for tonight, why do you ask?”

“Trish is bugging me about a ‘girls’ night out’.” Karen could almost hear her eyes roll. “Mostly it’s so she can talk to you about hero club and get your feedback on the idiotic superhero name she’s chosen, because I think it’s idiotic and she won’t accept that even though it _is_ idiotic.”

“What did she choose?”

“Hellcat. She wanted me to be Jewel back in the day, everything she comes up with sounds like a stripper name.”

“Hellcat’s kind of…it sound intimidating, at least.”

“No, you have to back me up on this, Page, or else she’s going to make me choose one too, okay?”

“Let me see when I can leave and I’ll meet you at…would Trish Walker be comfortable at Josie’s? Or should we go to Farrington?”

“She will hate Josie’s. But maybe that’ll mean she won’t want to stay too long.”

Unfortunately for Jessica, her theory was wrong, and Trish was unbothered by the low-rent nature of their watering hole. “I’ve been known to slum it once a while. Sometimes you want to go where nobody knows your name.”

Which led to the subject of the new name she’d settled on. “Why Hellcat?” Karen asked.

“I had a jerk call me it once after I chewed him out. ‘Ooh, what a hellcat,’ really smarmy. I want to reclaim it. Why is being angry and tough a bad thing? Because women are supposed to be sweet and weak? Besides, it sounds cool. All the Avengers have code names, so why shouldn’t we?”

“Because we’re _not_ the Avengers!” Jessica protested over her beer. “And they use their real names most of the time anyway!”

“Okay, but see, the _rest_ of us have other lives to protect. Jobs, businesses. We can’t all work for S.H.I.E.L.D. or be ‘Heroes for Hire’ like you and Luke, just advertising what we’re up to.”

“But otherwise, how did the meeting go?” Karen interrupted. “You don’t have to tell me anything the rest of the team wouldn’t want me to know.”

“Well, the new guy who calls himself the Immortal Iron Fist,” Jessica made a gagging face over the name, “is _kinda_ annoying.”

“He’s funny!” Trish insisted. “It’s nice to meet a hero who doesn’t brood too much.”

“But otherwise it was all fine. We mostly talked about the weird ninja cult and how we plan to stop them.”

“How’s that going to work?” Karen almost reached for her notepad, then remembered this wasn’t a real interview. Bad habits of a reporter.

“So far as I understand it, the plan is to plow our way through as many of these guys as we can without worrying about killing them permanently, because the main objective is to prevent the summoning-slash-releasing-slash-whatever that’s going to involve Elektra.” Jessica sipped her beer then held up a finger. “By the way, I’m sensing that she’s his ex, is she his ex?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Speaking of sensing someone is an ex, Jess, are you and—?” Jessica’s glare was glacial. “Never mind…”

“Look, forget dating, okay? It’s a stupid emotional mess of emotions that I don’t need. We should all just hang out with our friends, because who the hell needs romance and attachments and getting your heart broken, it all sucks.” She looked at Karen expecting back-up.

“My love life’s a mess, I won’t lie, but friends aren’t always any easier. The breakup of our law firm was…well, a breakup. You saw how Foggy acted seeing Matt.”

“To be honest, I assumed he was an ex, too.” When Karen choked on her drink, Jessica shrugged. “It’s the 21st century, I am totally open minded.”

“Well, they were friends since law school, and everything was a giant mess. Which can happen when one of you is basically lying to everyone else.”

“Or when one of you doesn’t contact her best friend for six months because she’d rather stew in her misery than get support,” Trish added, giving Jessica a pointed look.

“Okay, that is maybe fair, but you are also family, which made it more complicated.”

“We are _barely_ family, Jess.”

“Barely family is all I’ve got. Though I am fine disavowing all connection to your crazy-ass mom.”

“How bad was she?” Karen asked.

Jessica grimaced. “Full Mommie Dearest.”

“It wasn’t _that_ bad.”

“She _hit_ you, Trish. And was pretty much entirely responsible for your bulimia. Full. Mommie. Dearest.” Jessica waved a finger between her two friends. “This is, by the way, me opening up an avenue for you two to bond and leave me alone for a while.”

“She means my parents were kind of terrible, too,” Karen explained.

“Abusive?”

“Well, I was in the hospital…three times in my life because my dad broke a bone? He hit my mom too, but she knew how to take it better. And she was no help in keeping me safe.”

“That’s horrible. Was he an alcoholic?”

“Uh, no, no, more like they both believed it was a Biblical mandate.”

“Oh that is the _worst_. I mean, how do you argue with God, right? At least when you’re a kid.”

“You suck it up and get out and never look back.”

“That is very relatable. Not the being religiously abused part, but the shaking off the crap that was dumped on you. My whole self-esteem was tied up in my image and in being what my mom wanted me to be. It’s why right now I only use my voice. I didn’t even want my pictures used in advertising at first, but they said I had to.”

“How did you survive all that?”

She jabbed her thumb at Jessica. “She says she’s not a hero, but she started at a young age.”

Karen then demanded stories of teenage Jessica Jones, which Trish was more than willing to provide. By the time she got to Jessica’s goth rock phase, the PI was slowly thumping her forehead against the table and muttering “Oh God, why did I ever let you two meet?”

Trish was more or less the best, Karen concluded. If she could be only half as pleasant, assertive, and kind as the radio host was, convincing herself of her own goodness would be a lot easier. She could understand why someone abrasive, passive-aggressive, and surly would be a good match for her; Trish smoothed out Jessica’s edges. They reminded her a little of Foggy and Matt.

And that was when Karen realized what both pairs had in common - they were family. Not by blood or by law, and not really siblings in any sense, but still families, ones they’d chosen when they’d lost or grown estranged from their own. For a brief shining moment at Nelson and Murdock, Foggy and Matt had invited her into theirs, and it had fulfilled an ache she’d had since childhood. Nothing she’d been involved with since, not work, not her book group (oh God she hadn’t even started reading this month’s book, had she?) could meet that need. Karen didn’t think she could ever join Trish and Jessica, simply because they’d been through too much that she hadn’t been a part of. But there was something powerful in the clarity of knowing exactly what she felt like she was missing.

Karen carried the memory of their night with her the next day at the office. She needed it. Angela might be handling the bulk of the work on Asano’s follow-up, but Karen had been dumped with a stack of new documents released by the police that she had to sift through. Somehow she had wound up with a reputation as a data cruncher, and she couldn’t deny that she had a knack for noticing important details that others missed. Unfortunately she had trouble deciphering the business jargon of Asano’s records. She suspected that it hadn’t been well translated from the Japanese. By the end of the day she was mentally worn out, but ready to distract herself with almost anything else.

She rang Frank up. “So where am I supposed to go tonight?”

Karen drove to the address, which turned out to be an old rundown structure near the Harlem River Yard. A sign had it posted as “For sale,” but it was faded enough that clearly no one wanted to buy. As her car pulled up, she saw a window on the first floor that had the lights on, and a makeshift doggy door in one of the crumbling parts of the wall. A raggedy curtain in the window moved, then Frank came out the door to greet her. It was the first time in a long while that she’d seen him in street clothes without a jacket or hat. “You found the place okay?”

“It looks awful.”

“I ain’t putting down roots. Come in.” She followed him into the building, and it was obviously a converted storage room of some kind. There were some basic amenities; someone had put in a showering area that had a sink and toilet inside it, probably to keep the plumbing efficient. A hotplate, mini-fridge, and lamp were plugged into a lone socket. Frank had furnished it with a table and chair at the center of the room and a mattress shoved in one corner. Max was there, in his bed, and when he began to pester them, Frank opened the doggy door and shooed him outside. Mostly what dominated the room, though, were at least a dozen guns and even more boxes of ammo. Everything smelled slightly of gunpowder and grease. Definitely the home of the Punisher, if the skull-insignia armor he’d left propped against the table wasn’t enough evidence already.

Karen hadn’t had much time to look around when Frank set a stack papers down on the table and gestured to the chair. She set her bag down and took a seat. Up close, she saw that he’d given her lists of subway departure times. “What’s this for?”

“A good way for you to get away that I can’t teach you directly. Too many cameras in public transportation. It ain’t just that it’s crowded down there, if you get on a train right as it’s leaving, you can ditch somebody blocks behind you. The trick is you have to time it so you’re one of the last people on, then stick near a door so you can get out fast.” He tapped the paper. “So pick out the stations you go to the most, learn their timetables by heart, and practice on your own.”

“Another homework assignment?” Karen heaved an exhausted sigh and rubbed her temples. “Okay. I’ll figure out how to make some time, but you know I’m busy.” There was a loud rumble that shook the building as a train passed nearby. When it quieted down, she asked, “Why did you leave Micro’s place to come to this dump?”

“I prefer living alone. And I needed to keep moving, otherwise someday somebody’d follow me back to him.”

“Well, I don’t know how you make money for anything, but I want to believe you can afford better than this shithole.”

“First mob I hit after taking this on,” he pointed at the Punisher armor next to him, “had about 3 million in drug money on ’em. Figured they wouldn’t need it, seeing as how very dead they were.”

Karen blinked. “Seriously?”

“Yup. I am an honest-to-God millionaire, can you believe that?”

“I think to be a millionaire you have to be able to actually report the money. But _wow_ , I could live for a lifetime on that, why can’t you find someplace nicer?”

“Well, first, it’s gotta be a place where nobody asks too many questions, right? Second, that money won’t stretch as far as you think, I got other expenses. Guns and bullets ain’t cheap…shit, by the time Micro’s done with the upgrades, that’ll be fifty-thousand gone.”

“Upgrades?”

“You’ll see soon enough,” was his enigmatic reply.

Karen stood up and peered around the room again. “I guess I assumed you had some kind of side job.”

“With my many skills?” Frank walked around so he was facing her. “You know there’s only one thing I’m good at.”

Karen leaned back against the table, half-sitting on it. “Killing people may be what you’re _best_ at, but you have other talents. I look at you with Max, and in another life I think you could’ve worked at a dog rescue shelter. You installed some pretty high-tech stuff in my apartment easily. Most of all,” Karen crossed her arms and shrugged, “I may get angry with you or hate seeing the messes you leave behind, but you’ve always been good at making me feel better.”

Frank’s jaw clenched. “Yeah, when I ain’t giving you a panic attack.”

She reached out and touched his arm. “Hey, you didn’t know that would happen. And besides…that’s the real reason I called you, afterwards. I mean, I _was_ worried about whether you were okay, but I was also hoping you could talk to me, reassure me. You do that to me, Frank. It’s part of why I thought we’d be good together.” When Frank looked puzzled, she added, “In bed.”

“Ah.”

“But I get it, if you don’t want anything else physical to happen in our relationship, I’ll drop it.”

Frank didn’t say anything for a long time, shoulders tense, seemingly absorbed by the grain in the wood of the table. Then he ran his right hand slowly, cautiously, down her arm, his eyes following his fingers, until he reached her leg. Then he went under her skirt. Karen kept still as he inched upward until finally— _Oh God_. She had to bite her lip and grip the table.

“What are you doing?” Frank almost removed his hand then, but she snatched his wrist. “I didn’t say _stop_.”

He chuckled, the nervous tension in his body evaporating. “Yes, _ma’am_ ,” and moved his hand back…and forth, as he leaned in towards her. “Am I making you feel better?” he asked softly in her ear.

“Oh _yes_.” After a few more strokes, she tugged down the edge of her underwear and stockings just far enough to give him access. He slipped his hand in and she gasped as his fingers touched her skin. Technically he wasn’t doing anything to her that she hadn’t done to herself, but his thumb was rougher as he probed until finding the spot that made her shudder and cry out, and his fingers were thicker as they moved inside her. The taste of his tongue along hers when they met to kiss didn’t hurt either. Karen left one hand gripped on the table, and used the other to hold onto him. She moaned against his lips, shifting her hips off the table to get better traction against his hand. “See, this is what I was talking about,” she muttered into his cheek as she came up for air. “This…I want _this_.”

They continued until her phone buzzed with a text message. Frank started to pull his hand away, but Karen shoved it right back. “Ignore it, I can answer later.”

“I don’t want to get you in troub—”

“Shut up, Frank, I am _so_ close right now, you need to finish this.” He listened to her, pumping his fingers faster and deeper into her, which along with his thumb was hitting every sweet spot on her. Karen couldn’t bring herself to kiss him anymore, she was so absorbed in rocking her own hips to get the right angle, panting his name and every blasphemy she could think of. She could hear him breathing hard, feel him sweating, knew he had to be getting turned on by the sounds she was making, but right now she was entirely focused on getting her own pleasure out of him. He gave it to her with every second as she fell closer and closer to the edge.

When she slumped against him with a cry, completely spent, he kept his right hand in place and brushed her hair back from her face with his left. “So,” he asked, a little breathlessly, “that worked for you?”

Karen gave him an incredulous look. “Didn’t it _sound_ like it did?”

“I dunno, you might’ve—”

“I’m _not_ a good actress, Frank. That was _very_ real.” She kissed him again, hard, and he slid his fingers out, carefully using the palm of his hand to rub her back.

Frank eventually slipped his lips away from hers. “You, uh, got a tissue?”

Karen glanced at his hand. “Oh, right.” She fumbled with her bag before pulling one out and handing it to him.

“Not for me,” he gestured to her crotch, “for you.”

Karen blushed and wiped herself off before readjusting her underclothes. Frank went over to his sink and washed his hands. She searched until she found a trashcan and tried to gauge Frank’s reaction. He kept glancing over at her, then averting his eyes, as if he couldn’t make up his mind how to look at her after what had just happened. Not that she blamed him, it had been rather sudden, but she wanted him to be certain she was happy about it. Karen deposited the subway timesheets in her bag and approached him. “Well. I’m glad you’ve decided to take me up on the benefits package.”

“I guess I still don’t know what all is in it.” Frank dried his hands on his pant legs.

“Me.”

“You?”

“An all-access pass. As long as you ask me first.”

Frank’s eyes swept down then up to meet her gaze. “Sounds like a good deal for me. What’s in it for you?”

“I don’t know, maybe…” she ran a hand down his chest until she was at his belt buckle. She hooked her fingers in it and gave him what she hoped was a seductive grin. “I get some access to _you_? The night’s still young, and I could stay a little longer.”

Frank’s face went blank and he closed his eyes as if to clear his head. “Memorize those charts by next time and…I might have to come up with a reward for you.”

“Really? Any ideas what that would be?” Karen inched in closer.

“How about something I know you’d like?”

“I look forward to it.” She kissed him, enjoying how it made him groan. “Good night, Frank.”

“’Night.”

Outside, Max had been sniffing around her car. She scratched his head before nudging him back toward Frank’s place. “Thank you for not interrupting us.” _Speaking of interruptions…_ Karen checked her text message; only a notice she’d received from Ellison about tomorrow’s work assignments, thank God it wasn’t anything important. She clasped her phone to her chest and spared one last glance back at the grimy little apartment.

Which she was now eagerly hoping to come back to.


	21. It was happening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! And with a brand new philosophy of "stop stressing about this so much!" The next set of chapters are fairly major, and I've told myself that I have to finish them before I let myself watch "Luke Cage" so that I don't let the show's version of him interfere too much with mine (which is based on the comics; I heard the show cut the whole "making a living off of superhero work" thing?).
> 
> Also, screw "Civil War" and its absurdly low casualty rates for the Battle of New York. And probably some trigger warnings for terrorist attacks. And definitely apologies for the cliffhanger.

Karen was thinking about the first time she’d slept with someone. Her parents had pulled her out of sex education in school, arguing that all it would teach her to do was sin. Her mother had filled her in on the basic details only after Karen had come home one day, begging to finally be told what all her classmates already knew. Her mother had explained quite clearly that Karen was to wait until marriage, otherwise, no one would ever want her, the same way no one wanted a chewed-up piece of gum. She also made sure to emphasize that it was God’s gift to enable procreation.

“But what if I don’t _want_ to have children?” she’d asked. At twelve, the idea sounded horrible.

“‘She shall be saved through childbearing’,” her mother quoted scripture at her. “If you don’t, you’re rejecting God’s plan of salvation for women.”

“You and dad only have the two of us.” She knew her mother had a hysterectomy after complications with her brother’s delivery. “Do you two not have sex anymore?”

Her mother looked appalled. “Of course we do! It’s a wife’s duty to please her husband.”

Thus her first time, with a random guy she’d met that night at a bar, had been more than a little awkward, but even though she hadn’t climaxed it still felt good, and even though he never called her back she didn’t regret it. Her next encounter had been with someone she knew better, from one of her classes. She’d apologized to him for this not being her first time, and he’d given her a confused, “Um, why would I care?” which he didn’t realize was the sexiest thing he could possibly have said to her. That, and coming for the first time, confirmed Karen’s conviction that everything her parents had ever told her about anything was a load of bullshit.

She was thinking about it as she lay on the mattress in Frank’s place, her body spooned inside the curve of his. It was the end of her fourth lesson. They’d spent the evening climbing over and ducking under the equipment of the train yard as he taught her more techniques to evade anyone following her or to send someone sprawling who caught up with her.

It was also the second time he’d stroked her into release. Karen had memorized all the subway stops perfectly, and Frank had rewarded her as promised. She had been hoping for a little more when she’d dragged him down onto the mattress, but she couldn’t deny his fingers were _very_ skilled.

She was learning how to lose a tail, he was learning how to get her off. It seemed like a fair trade.

Karen kissed the hand he had cradled under her head as he pulled the other out of her pants. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” he rumbled in her ear.

“You know, we _could_ do something else. Not just this.”

“Thought you said it worked for you?”

“It does, but it might be nice to do something that would work for _you_ , too.” She rubbed her rear against his very-obvious hard-on and turned her head so he could see her bold smile.

Frank shifted, pulling his arm out from under her head and rolled over to stand up. “Nah, I’m good.”

Karen frowned, but simply turned onto her back. If he wanted to play a little game of denying himself, she’d go along with it for now. “Suit yourself.” She watched Frank sit down at his table, picking up a gun to clean, and adjusting his posture in his chair awkwardly as he tried to ignore his arousal. She fought back a yawn. “Could I crash here?”

“In the place you called a shithole?”

“I’m drowsy right now, if I have to go home I’ll get wired again and I don’t think I can sleep, knowing what’s going to happen tomorrow.”

“What’s going to happen is that we’re all going to take care of it. Me, Red, Mr. Bulletproof, that PI you trust. So get some rest.”

Karen closed her eyes and nodded off quickly. Her dreams, though, were haunted by images of the black-robed men who’d kidnapped her months ago, swarming out of the shadows and overrunning the city. A winged monster emerging out of a crack in the Earth. Fisk finding her, hacking her to pieces. Frank, drowning in a pool of blood and she couldn’t save him. Somehow none of them were bad enough to force her awake; she just endured an unending progression of her worst fears.

Frank woke her up before her alarm. “You’ve been making noises all night,” he told her. “Bad dreams?”

“Very,” Karen rubbed her eyes. “Have you been awake this whole time?”

He nodded. “Preparing. I’ll get some shut-eye this afternoon, got to be ready for Fisk’s transfer this evening.”

Karen nodded, still groggy from poor sleep, and rose from the mattress. Frank pointed to the table, where a plate with scrambled eggs lay waiting. She hadn’t felt hungry until she saw them, and the instant she did her stomach began to growl. Karen sat and wolfed them down.

She kept her eyes on Frank as he stalked around the room, checking his guns and ammunition, and occasionally patting Max. She could sense that his constant movement was due to nerves as much as her sleeplessness had been. Karen played with her fork, toying with an idea, before clearing her throat. “I was wondering…”

He stopped his pacing.

Karen pulled her keys out of her pocket. “You gave me two sets of keys, right? For the window and for the front door. Well, I-I never use the one to get in through the window, and I was thinking that if you needed to, I don’t know, escape from someone when you were injured or something you could take the key and use my place—”

“No,” he cut her off with a firm shake of his head. “I got safe houses for when that happens, plus the van.”

“No one would know what it was the key to—”

“Unless they got it out of me.”

“I have a hard time imagining you cracking under torture.”

He scowled. “Look, I ain’t worried about that. Torture’s a crapshoot at best, and I’d lie through my teeth before I’d let them get to you, but I read about that Kilgrave guy, or half the shit that passes on the evening news, and I think torture is the least of our worries.”

“It’s an age of miracles and monsters.” She tucked her keys back into her pocket and swallowed the last of the eggs. “What chance do mortals like us have?”

“Unless we’re packing heat.” Frank took a seat next to her and put a hand her on the shoulder. “Look, I appreciate it, you know? You trying to help me, but if I need it, I will ask, that I can promise.”

She placed a hand over his, tracing her thumb along a scar that ran down from his trigger finger. “I feel like I’m waiting a lot with you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” and Karen took his hand to her lips to kiss his knuckles, “that I don’t really that this is _really_ all you want in our relationship.”

 “It ain’t.” He pulled his hand away, slowly but firmly. “ _Believe_ me, it ain’t. But the thing is, you say that it won’t change anything. But you know it might. At least for me. I ain’t so great at compartmentalizing like you.”

Karen flinched. Of course. The only other woman he’d ever slept with had been the love of his life…the ghost of Maria Castle floated in her mind’s eye, and it suddenly felt wrong to be here. “Would that be such a bad thing, though?” She managed to ask. “Not now, I mean, not any time soon even…”

“Maybe not. Maybe yes. I know you think that two hot messes are going to cancel each other out or something, but sometimes it just makes twice the mess. Besides, I was doing some reading, and I saw somewhere that reporters aren’t supposed to sleep with sources?” He had the gall to smirk.

“Well, you’re not really a _source_ , just a source for sources, not even that, just…” Karen squirmed. “Look, if anyone finds out about me helping you, bending journalistic ethics is going to be the least of my concerns, okay?”

“All the more reason to think this through, though.” He took her hand again and stood, helping her to her feet along with him. “Like I said before, after everything cools down a little, we can talk. In the meantime, this is good, right? What we got right now?”

Karen tried to judge the expression on his face, an attempt at casualness that didn’t cover his unease. _At least I’m not the only one confused by us, I suppose_. “Yeah. It is.”

He let go of her hand and gave her a nod as they walked to his door. “I’d tell you to be careful except I know that’s pretty much a waste of my time. So, just…remember everything I taught you, okay? Keep yourself safe.”

“I will. And thank you.” She gave him a swift peck on the cheek before heading to her car.

Karen swung by her apartment for a change of clothes before going to work. The paper was already abuzz and she slipped into her office quietly. A stack of tasks had already been placed on her desk. As she flipped through them, she saw, to her consternation, that the third item was double-checking the list of people tied to Asano. _Frank is getting his hit list after all_ , she thought. Maybe she could postpone it until later, when he’d be occupied with Fisk. Karen reshuffled the stack and sat down to work.

It was frustrating, being trapped in her office, when she knew her friends were about to transfer Olmos. Karen had decided, after Padmore, that linking herself too closely to Olmos now would be dangerous, and that she’d have to sit this one out. That didn’t make sitting around while they were busy any less comfortable, and she poured herself into work as a distraction.

When her phone buzzed in the early afternoon, she almost jumped out of her chair. Karen picked it up and saw that it was a message from Foggy with a photo attached. “On our way to safety,” it read, and the picture was a selfie of him, Marci, Trish, and Jessica. Three of them were beaming, and the fourth was doing her best to look sullen, with just a trace of a grin sneaking in at the edge of her mouth.

“Wish I were there,” she texted back, and sighed. They would be fine, she was sure, but she would feel better if Matt was with them on this leg of the journey. Unfortunately he was prowling the docks with the hero of Harlem, waiting for the mysterious shipment to arrive. _Even with Frank, we’re spread too thin_.

She typed her reports, called sources for confirmation, did everything possible before reaching the list of Asano names at the bottom of her pile. _These are not good people_ , she told herself. _You don’t need to defend them_. The Hand deserved to have the Punisher sent after them, she knew that for sure. She’d been in the back of that van, tried to distract their threats against the old man towards her, only to have it backfire…if she closed her eyes now she could hear the gunshot. _They should have killed me instead…_

Karen checked the list, gave it her approval and had it sent to Angela.

It was getting late when a clamor outside her office door signaled something wrong. Karen went outside only to run into Alonzo. His face was grim, and he signaled for her to grab her coat. “Something bad just went down at the pier,” he hissed in her ear as they headed on their way.

 _Shit_. It was happening. “The Asano shipment?”

“That’s what Ellison thinks.” They were hurrying down the stairs at a pace that left her breathless.

“Then why not let Angela handle this? She’s the lead on the story.”

“Yeah, but reports say there are bodies on the ground, and she don’t like to see those the way you seem to.”

“I don’t _like_ it, I’m just…I’m getting good at dealing with it.” As they exited out the front of the Bulletin, Karen gestured down the street. “My car’s that way.”

“We’re taking mine, I got some of my camera stuff in there. You don’t mind?”

“Not having to drive in Manhattan traffic? Of course I don’t.” His car turned out to be more cramped than hers, but newer. She folded herself in, wishing for more headspace, and let the cameraman take them away. After a stretch of silence, she cleared her throat. “Doesn’t it bother you? The, uh, the bodies, I mean.”

“Sure, but…” Alonzo hesitated. “I saw worse during the spring revolutions.”

“Cairo, right?”

“At first. I went to Aqiria after that. Things got even nastier there.”

Karen searched her memory. “I’m sorry, I’m trying to remember but Aqiria was…?”

His hands clenched and unclenched on the wheel. “Nice oil-rich ally of the United States whose policies against women and LGBT folks the good old United States was willing to overlook in exchange for keeping the pipelines going. When the uprising started there against Mr. President-For-Life Abdi, he retaliated with a crackdown that nobody wanted to cover. Except for one young idiot who’d recently swapped a career in acting for photojournalism.” He sighed. “I got in and I got to see the bodies of dissidents he left on display to rot in public parks.”

“Jesus.” Karen’s eyes widened. “Okay, I _do_ remember that.”

“Yeah. Had to send in all my photos anonymously to keep me and my contacts safe. I _still_ can’t claim them, at least not openly, even after the world finally took notice and the regime changed. Abdi’s got loyalists who are courting ISIS and the Ten Rings, and I don’t want the people who helped me getting hurt.”

A connection formed in her mind. “Wait…wait, I _definitely_ remember that, it was the first time someone anonymous ever one a Pul…” Karen gaped at him. “You won a _Pulitzer_? Why are you working at the Bulletin? You could be anywhere!”

Alonzo gave her a rueful smile. “’Cause the Times and the WaPo didn’t believe my evidence. They thought an amateur couldn’t have done it. But the Bulletin did. Besides, working with a bunch of muckrakers suits me fine. And being at the same place as Ben Urich…” He shrugged.

The too-familiar wave of guilt flooded over her. “I’m…I’m sorry. I’m no substitute for him.”

“True.” He gave her another shrug. “Hey, sorry, but you know it is. Then again, I don’t think Ben was Ben at your age either. And if we hadn’t all let him down…if we’d realized he was right, that there was a mole, if we’d caught Caldwell…”

“It’s not your fault. It’s not any of your faults.” _It’s mine_.

Alonzo shook his head firmly. “At the end of the day, it all lands on the bastard who killed him. Nobody ever rolled on that one with Fisk, but someday…”

They arrived at the pier Ellison had sent them to ahead of the rest of the press, but the area was already being cordoned off. Karen and Alonzo managed to get close enough to see the scene before an officer with a roll of tape told them to stand back.

There had been extra police already stationed in the area, assigned after the revelations of the Asano files. It hadn’t done any good. A dozen officers lay sprawled on the ground, their throats expertly slit between the juncture of their helmets and body armor. Karen felt a wave of revulsion as she looked at the picture Alonzo had snapped, but forced it down, trying to consider the scene rationally. Bullets wouldn’t have done much damage the way they were dressed, but the killers would have had to get very close very fast to kill them with blades. She remembered the way the Hand had seemingly emerged out of the shadows in her apartment. She hadn’t even had time to _consider_ going for her gun.

The nearest officer approached her and the other members of the press that had followed them. “No news yet, this scene’s too hot.” He tried to wave them away, only to have an eruption of protests. “Look, there’ll be a press announcement later—”

“Is it true that officers are down?” one reporter shouted.

“Is this connected to the Asano investigation?”

“How many people are dead?”

The police were stonewalling so there was no point in staying, but Alonzo had the photograph which would put the Bulletin out in front of everyone else. They wove their way through the crowd and dashed to the car. As Alonzo started the engine, Karen took the camera from him and looked at the pictures again. “Every time I look at that, I imagine what it would feel like.” Her kidnappers had pressed a blade against her throat when she’d tried to fight. Wesley and his gun had always weighed down her nightmares more, but after seeing the photos, Karen was certain her dreams would have a new theme.

“It’s a lot of blood. But at least it’s clean. You can barely see the wounds. Now, somebody hacked with a machete, _there’s_ a sight to make you lose your stomach.”

“Are we going to make this a game of who’s seen the worst corpse? Because I saw a man after the Punisher punched his jaw off.”

“Ouch. Still think I win.” The lightness of their conversation was a bit unsettling, but gallows humor worked better than brooding. “You got any theories on who did this? From those deep sources of yours?”

“Some.” Karen set the camera down. “Let’s just say that when Yamada said Asano’s higher-ups seemed old-fashioned, he didn’t know the half of it. I think we just saw a Medieval Japanese assassination.”

“You mean ninjas?” Alonzo was incredulous. “Do they still exist? I thought that ended with the Meiji Restoration.” When he saw Karen’s confusion his face turned sheepish. “There was this anime when I was younger called _Rurouni Kenshin_ …look, whatever, they definitely used blades, and I’ve been reading up on yakuza since meeting Yamada. Guns over in Japan will get you some serious prison time, so a lot of them take knives or even swords instead. It would fit.”

“It would,” she agreed. _But it isn’t_ , she thought.

Her phone buzzed and Karen found a text from Foggy telling her that Olmos had been safely delivered into police custody. “Oh thank God.”

“What is it?” Alonzo glanced over, trying to see her phone as he turned the wheel.

“Nothing. Well, I mean, there’s something, and the Bulletin will be getting the scoop on it, but I’ll let you know then.” At least that was going according to plan. Frank had whatever preparations he’d made, and Matt was probably already off roof-jumping after whoever had killed those officers. She’d set things into motion, and maybe they weren’t in her control any more, but that wasn’t a bad thing. Everyone had planned this carefully, after all, so—

If they hadn’t been stopped at a traffic light, they’d only have heard it. Since they weren’t moving, they _felt_ it, up through the ground, the rippling shudder of the explosion that left a crack in the corner of Alonzo’s windshield and set off car alarms. They’d both instinctively raised their arms over their faces, ducking against the concussive blast, but the windshield held and all that was left was the noise. Lifting their heads, Karen and Alonzo shared a single look before grabbing the tools of their trade and racing out of the car.

It was coming from Central Park. The mushroom-shape of the cloud made Karen fear the worst for a moment, but if it had been nuclear they’d be dead now. Whatever it was had been still sizable enough to suck air back up into its wake, leaving an umbrella-shaped gray silhouette against the red of the evening sky.

Only some of that red wasn’t the sun; over the blare of alarms and the screams of panicked pedestrians, Karen could hear the roar of flames and the intermittent crackle of gunfire, especially as they got closer. They were the only people running towards the explosion site, though from the sirens behind them meant that wasn’t going to be the case for much longer.

A block away from the park they found the first casualties, all floored from the blast or injured from shattered glass. Most were still moving, crying, and Karen couldn’t tell whether the ones who weren’t were dead or alive. Not a single window was completely intact. If it was this bad this far out, what lay in store once they made it to the park? Karen stopped in her tracks, momentarily overwhelmed. “It’s the Battle of New York all over again,” Alonzo said softly beside her, equally as stunned.

“I missed that,” Karen admitted. The position she’d filled at Union Allied had previously been held by a woman who had died in the attack. The Battle had left a lot of open positions. There’d probably be more of those opening after today. “Do we risk going into the park?” she asked, pointing to the ominous sky ahead.

Before he could answer, the sirens arrived, and there were more police than ambulances. Karen and Alonzo ran again, trying futilely to outpace the vehicles, but by the time they reached the edge of the park the SWAT teams had filed out of their trucks and barricades were being set up.

This close, Central Park looked like a nightmare. There were fires burning everywhere, and in their flickering shadows Karen could see both bodies on the ground and figures on the move. The latter frightened her more, as she was sure she recognized them. Above it all, the mushroom cloud from the explosion was stubbornly refusing to fade.

No – it wasn’t fading, but it was changing, twisting into a shape that Karen couldn’t quite make out, and there were unearthly lights flickering inside. Whatever had happened, the source was there.

“Sir, ma’am!” An officer snapped her out of her reverie. “You need to evacuate this is a dangerous area!”

“M-m-my name is Karen Page, I’m with the Bulletin—”

“I don’t care _who_ you are, you’re evacuating, _now_.”

She and Alonzo found themselves grabbed roughly by the arms and escorted well away from the periphery. Karen kept turning her head back, trying to see what was happening behind her. Gunfire erupted again as the SWAT teams moved into the park, followed by screams.

The two officers, a man and a woman, only left them after they were well away, and after they’d received orders over their radios that made them both exchange nervous glances. “Stay here,” the female officer told them. “Don’t get your sorry asses killed trying to be brave. No story is worth that.”

Karen watched them go and kicked the wheel of the car next to her in frustration. “God _damn_ it. What are we supposed to do now?”

“Go back to the car,” Alonzo told her. He kept a brisk pace as they retraced their path. The neighborhood they were in was already almost completely abandoned, cars left where they had stopped and doors left ajar. Their only company people who must have delayed evacuating to gather irreplaceable items, unruly children, or bedridden relatives. It made for a straggling line of refugees fleeing from the disaster behind them.

They found the car where they’d left it, and Karen slumped against its side, face in her hands. “I hate this. I hate it! I hate not being able to _do_ anything, to-to always be on the sidelines. We can’t just sit around and wait!”

“We’re not.” Alonzo went around to the back of his car and opened the hatchback. Karen followed him back and her eyes widened. “They’re not the best issue out there,” he said, “but they should do in a pinch.”

Karen stared at the pair of bulletproof vests and helmets in the trunk. “Where did you…?”

“Aqiria. Hence why they’re not the best. I learned there that where the authorities don’t want you to go is always where the story is at.” He pulled out one of the helmets. “I don’t know how well this’ll fit you, but…you up for it?”

She didn’t even blink. “Let me try it on.”


	22. [Preludes]

Everything was darkness and pain.

Her life, her name, it was all a fog, she was chasing it, trying to grasp as tendrils.

Nothing was there.

_I was dead_. She knew that. What had happened after, she couldn’t remember.

_I died saving him. That should have gotten me a ticket into heaven, right, Matthew? Unless God is as a bigger bastard than you believe…_

But she wasn’t dead. Not now.

They’d done something, put something in her, and she was falling asleep and _it_ was waking up. Under her skin, in her veins, in her soul. Her evil, her anger, her bloodlust, it fed on it, growing larger and larger until Elektra was a scared little girl again, hiding in a corner while her elders talked about whether she should die.

_Elektra…that was my name._ He’d said it to her so many times as he’d held her in her arms. As he’d held her that one last time. It was a light, a warmth, something to hold onto amidst an endless black sky.

Then the thing inside her broke free and the world exploded.

 

“I followed them here,” the Daredevil was telling them all, pointing into the park, and Jessica still felt as if this were a weird dream. _I drank the worm in my tequila_ , she decided, even though she hated tequila. But he was there, in broad daylight, wearing a red jumpsuit and devil horns, alongside a masked man with a dragon on his chest and Trish, who had insisted on making a costume for herself, _of course_ , it even had cat ears. If anyone could see them, sheltered in the early evening shadows behind a patch of trees, they would have thought they were a circus show.

The threat was real enough, though. He’d called them to meet him, saying the Hand had killed the team of police who had tried to prevent them from taking whatever it was they had off the boat. “I couldn’t stop them, but I did slow them down enough to give you time.”

“Well, we’re here to help now,” Trish said, bobbing back and forth from one foot to the other. She’d been acting odd the entire day, as if she was hiding something, and Jess didn’t like it. “What’s the plan?”

“Same as it ever was. We burn through them until we get to Elektra. Don’t stop to worry about keeping them down permanently, none of that will matter if they use her as a vessel for…whatever this _Beast_ of theirs is. I’ll be out front, listening for them, Luke will be with me on point. Jess and Danny, you flank behind, and Tricia, stay in the middle and provide support when needed.”

She could tell that Trish didn’t like that plan, but she was the only one of them without superpowers. It made sense to have the most superpowered among them be the front line. Her friend finally nodded, as did the new weirdo Danny, and Luke…

…she wasn’t going to think about that right now. She definitely wasn’t going to think about the looks he and Claire had exchanged before she’d left to set up a medical station for them to fall back to in a safe house. _I have no right to be jealous_ , she told herself. _Not after what I did to him_. Besides, she liked Claire, all it meant was he had good taste in women, so really—

“Are you ready?” Trish asked her, a little worried.

“Oh sure, yeah, I feel _completely_ prepared to go fight an army of undead ninjas.” Jessica shook her head dismissively. “Whatever, if we’re going to do this, let’s get it over with.”

They hadn’t even taken positions when the world exploded. In the instant she’d had to decide, Jess threw herself over Trish, covering her from the blast that drove the air out of her lungs. In the corner of her eye, she saw Luke throw Matt behind him, spreading his arms to take as much of the blast for all of them as he could. Meanwhile the Danny guy was doing…something. The idiot hadn’t dodged.

When the wave passed, Jessica had a ringing in her ears that she was sure had left permanent hearing damage, but she was somehow not dead. Nor was anyone else, though they looked shaken. Something shimmered slightly in the air, disappearing as Danny let out a gasp and buckled. “Wow, I’m glad that worked,” he said, sides heaving.

“What do you mean, you’re glad that worked?” Matt asked, standing up slowly.

“Well, I’d never done it before, but _theoretically_ I knew I could spread out my qi and—”

“Oh God we are a bunch of amateurs,” Jessica groaned. She looked up at the cloud rising over their heads. The trees that had been sheltering them had been ripped apart by the blast. Only Danny deflecting some of the force of the blast had kept them from meeting the same fate. Dust and smoke filled the area, obscuring the area around them, but the cloud overhead was clear enough, and it didn’t look natural. “Where are the Avengers when you need them?”

“Playing politics in Germany,” Luke said gruffly. He cricked his neck and brushed debris off his shirt. “The Defenders are all this city’s got right now.”

 

“Everything should be ready to go,” David said as he slammed the back of the battle van shut. (That’s what he called it, but only in his head. Castle had thought the name was stupid and told him as much.) “Hopefully whatever Fisk has planned as a distraction, he won’t know we’re coming.”

“It don’t hurt to be careful, though.” Castle circled around the van, tapping the sides and giving little nods of approval. “Looks good. The reinforced siding’s definitely an upgrade.”

“Oh for sure.” David had relied on a lot of military backdoors that he still had a foot in for their little project. So far most of them seemed unaware of his ties to Rising Tide or the Punisher, which was good. The few that did were sympathetic after seeing what had happened in Afghanistan. “But be honest, you’re more excited about the arsenal inside.”

That earned him a chuckle, and David grinned. _See? I know you better than you think_. “And I will be online with you from here the whole time. With Max’s head in my lap, most likely.”

Castle climbed into the driver’s seat and with one last salute to his ally backed the battle van out of the garage. Once he was out of site, David let out a deep breath and allowed his face to look as nervous as he felt. Digital link on Castle’s dash aside, he hated setting him out on this alone. There were too many unknowns. Yes, he’d hacked Rikers to learn Fisk’s route to holding. Yes, the battle van was his crowning achievement in military engineering. But Fisk had plans within plans, and with the information Page had passed on about some paramilitary group causing a distraction worried him no end.

He made his way to his console and turned on the link to the battle van. He had a nice video of Castle looking grim and focused, full Punisher, and then front and rear dash cams. Not as 360 as he’d have liked, but sacrifices have to be made in the name of security to the van's exterior. David pulled out a bag of chips to munch on and calm his nerves (one of the things he liked about Castle was the man never said anything about his weight; nor should he, David was still in good health but most people refused to believe that once they saw his girth).

Sure enough, after half an hour of anxious watching, Max came over and set his head in David’s lap. He rubbed the dog behind his ears, and the happy tongue-loll that always earned him helped a lot.

“Dave?” Castle’s abrupt break of radio silence snapped him to attention.

“Yeah, I’m here, what’s up?”

“I’ve got sight of Fisk’s convoy.”

_Oh boy, here we go_. “Okay, follow along until we get to the attack site.” They’d chosen a location with the lowest prospect for bystander casualties, though even there it was risky. Another unknown variable to set him on edge. “Let me know before you start, I want to keep an eye on the structural integrity—”

There was a sudden muffled explosion on Castle’s end of the line, and for the first time that David could remember the Punisher looked shocked. “The hell was that?”

David heard it only a few seconds later, more muted than on video and coming from Manhattan. Max whined and abandoned his lap to hide behind Castle’s sofa. “That wasn’t you?”

“Shit, no, I don’t have the firepower to make that kind of noise.”

“Hold on.” David leaped from his chair, holding his headpiece to keep it from falling as he dashed to the window.

Across the river, a cloud was slowly rising from what looked like Central Park. Inside, he saw flashes of blue and red, as if two unseen forces were warring against each other. Memories of a hole in the sky and an alien army rushed back into his head, and David had to fight an urge to be ill.

“Well,” he finally managed, “that’s _one_ way to make a distraction.”


	23. It’ll be one helluva scoop if we live

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friday morning, Saturday morning...same thing right? Here's the chapter.

Central Park was hell. Not the kind that her parents had tried to beat into her growing up, but the kind Father Lantom had spoken of. The waning hours of the park had made it less crowded than during the height of the day. But that still left too many corpses, mostly people out on evening walks with their dogs. The dogs hadn’t made it either. Karen knew, because in spite of the urgency she had tried to check every body, begging for at least some survivors.

Alonzo finally stopped her. “I get it, believe me, but don’t do this to yourself.” There was a weight of experience behind his words. “Just report it. Don’t let them be forgotten. It’s all we can do.”

The periphery the police had tried to place around the park had proved a joke. They would send out men to put up more barricades, then have to call them back to deal with another attack. It had let Karen and Alonzo slip into the park more easily than she’d expected, though it left her worried. The Hand seemed to have sent a large force to stop the police from closing off the park, which meant there were either more of them than they’d ever guessed, or they were spread out thin and not bothering to guard whatever was going on beneath that cloud.

_Maybe it doesn’t need guarding_. She shuddered.

Alonzo was taking pictures as they went, though how he could handle the camera properly through the visor on his helmet she didn’t know. The fading daylight through the tree branches and the flickering lights of fire and that unearthly cloud couldn’t have made the lighting easy to work with either, but he trudged on silently. Karen was mentally jotting down notes. She couldn’t decide whether imagining her headline and opening paragraphs as they walked past ruptured ground and the occasional body made her professional or monstrous. Unthinkingly, her hand slipped into her purse that she’d slung across her body, and she pulled her gun to the top.

This proved useful when the first of the Hand teams found them. There were only two of them, and they jumped out of the shadows so suddenly that neither reporter nor photographer had time to think. Karen pulled her .380 instinctively and shot the nearest one point blank between the eyes before he would swing his katana. Apparently they hadn’t been expecting that, as the other was startled enough to miss – or maybe Alonzo had self-defense training of his own and knew how to dodge. He kicked at the black-clad attacker’s legs and earned a swipe of blade across his chest that the Kevlar mostly deflected. It gave Karen enough time to re-aim and hit their assailant twice in the chest.

Her breath was so ragged inside her helmet that at first she couldn’t hear Alonzo’s protestations when she pulled him to his feet and demanded that they run. They sped away, and the helmet’s lack of peripheral vision reminded Karen vaguely of a found-footage movie, the kind that inevitably ended with the filmer’s death. The scenery bobbed back and forth, noise unsettlingly distant, and after a few minutes she worried she might puke if she ran any farther.

Alonzo finally yanked her arm hard and screamed for her to stop. As she tumbled down on a cracked piece of sidewalk, Karen noticed that she’d kicked her heels off before their flight without realizing it. _Frank would be proud_.

“The _hell_ , Page!” Alonzo was shouting at her. “You just killed two people!”

“They were trying to kill us,” she reminded him, but it did bother her how calm her voice was. “Besides, they’ll recover soon enough. That’s why we need to keep going.”

“The _fuck_ are you talking about? You don’t recover from a bullet in the head!”

“You do if you’re the Hand, apparently.” Karen swallowed hard. “Look, I-I-I know, this is a lot to take in, and I’m basically accepting the idea that everyone we are fighting here has been dead for a long time on hearsay, but the people I’ve heard it from? I trust them. They’re good sources. This is…I don’t really _know_ what this is, but if you want to live, you’re going to have to not freak out.”

His eyes were still wide behind his visor, but he was nodding. “So you’re saying this is some straight-out-of-Asgard shit? Might as well be magic? Wait – is this what you were talking about before? With Reynard?”

“Yeah.” Karen glanced over her shoulder. She couldn’t tell whether the sound she’d just heard was gunfire or a branch snapping under pursuing feet. “Look, you’ve been in active war zones before, right? We’ve got to keep moving?”

“Especially if they don’t recognize your press pass.” He helped her get back to her feet. “So where to now?”

“I’m not sure, but—” She didn’t have time to finish the sentence before they saw the three men sprinting down the path towards them. Alonzo was running before she was this time, and Karen decided to follow wherever he went.

They dove off the sidewalk and down a bit of a hill, through bushes that raked her pantyhose to shreds and over roots that twisted at her ankles. She would have stopped for breath save for Alonzo’s confident pace before her and the shouts of shadows behind her. Who were gaining on them…

…until all of a sudden they weren’t. They’d scaled a bridged hill and slid down the other side when Karen dared to twist her head around and look to see how soon they’d be under attack again. To her astonishment no one was behind them. She grabbed Alonzo’s shoulder. “Why did they stop chasing us?”

“My guess? That.” He was looking in the opposite direction from her and Karen followed his line of sight.

The glowing cloud had shrunk, technically, but it looked bigger now. Because it was moving right towards them.

After half a minute of stunned silence, Karen gulped. “Well, we wanted to be where the story is…”

They circled around as the cloud advanced, Alonzo taking the lead again, until it came to a halt and started to…condense, for a lack of a better word. It shrank, but as it did so it almost solidified into a form, something alien and massive. What had Matt called it? A demon? That seemed about right.

“We’re going to need to get closer if we want to know what’s going on, but…” Alonzo had set his helmet against hers, and she could hear his whisper through the resonance of the thick plastic.

“But will that thing kill us as soon as it sees us?” Karen chewed her lip. She doubted that bullets would have much effect. “It’s your call.”

“No pressure.” He laughed humorlessly. “What do you want to bet they weren’t even chasing us before? That we were being _herded_ towards this thing?” Alonzo straightened and hefted his camera again. “Screw it. It’ll be one helluva scoop if we live.”

He turned out to be right, of course, but at the time Karen couldn’t have known what they would see when they paused at the last patch of greenery before the open area that had been blasted away by the path of the cloud. Here, about a hundred feet away, it was clear that the _thing_ hovering overhead was tethered to the ground by a solitary figure. Karen couldn’t make out her face, but it was a woman, black hair whipping wildly in a supernatural wind, skin glowing an iridescent mix of blue and red, her already well-muscled arms bulging unnaturally. When she opened her mouth, a scream far too loud for a human set of lungs issued forth. _Elektra_ , Karen thought. It had to be. Which meant that Matt and the others were too late…

The target of that scream was the five figures standing before her, all in various fighting stances. Elektra’s unearthly glow left them backlit from Karen and Alonzo’s perspective, but she had a good guess who they were. Two of them were still dealing with a scattered remainder of Hand fighters, easily sending them flying. They were the last of Elektra’s bodyguards, Karen guessed, and the three others were advancing towards the real target.

Three-on-one would not have been a fair fight if they were up against anything less that whatever Elektra had become. The tallest and most broad-shouldered of them – probably Luke, the bulletproof man – drove straight towards her, fists up, as the two spryer figures leapt in from the sides. Elektra ducked Luke’s punch with quicksilver speed, and thrust out her arms up and into his chest, sending him flying. The other two had each grabbed one of her shoulders, but she barely took note that they were there, and shrugged them off roughly. She rounded on the nearest of them, and suddenly Karen recognized it was a woman, oh _shit_ , that had to be Jessica, and she wasn’t sure that even the toughest PI who ever lived could deal with this. Neither did Jess, given how she ran sideways to Luke’s side, helping him to his feet and shouting something too far off to be heard.

Elektra moved slowly and unrelentingly towards them as they both braced against each other. When the possessed woman swung at them, three times as fast as Luke’s punch, they skidded back, hard, but stayed standing, and Jess broke free to slam into Elektra’s shoulder. It didn’t accomplish much, unfortunately, though it made Elektra scream again. She readied a hand to strike, fingers pointed, and Karen had no doubt that she could probably thrust that hand straight through her friend.

It couldn’t pass through Luke’s skin, though, as he threw himself between the two of them. Even at their distance, Karen could hear his cry of pain, echoed by a horrified “Luke!” from Jessica. How were they supposed to win against someone as strong as this? Karen had seen Matt fight; he was skilled, but far weaker than Jessica.

But then again, maybe that wasn’t Matt’s plan. _He does have that good Catholic martyr complex_ , Karen thought grimly as the second figure that Elektra had shrugged off, the one she seemed to have forgotten about in her pursuit of Luke and Jessica, emerged from behind her, and this time Karen could make out a pair of horns on his head. He wasn’t attacking her, he was shouting as he stumbled towards her. _He’s trying to reach her_ , she realized, and her next thought was, _He’s going to get himself killed_.

At first, though, she thought she might have been wrong, because Elektra hesitated. The light around her started to fluctuate wildly, and the blue light within the red glowed brighter, hotter, and, as if straining against a gravity stronger than that of Earth, Elektra turned her body towards Matt. Whatever he’d said, he’d reached her, and Matt spread his arms out towards his lover.

Then the red light flared, Elektra’s body seized with another scream, and she struck him with such force that he went flying into the air to land a good twenty feet away. “Matt!” Karen shrieked, and didn’t notice she was halfway into the clearing before Alonzo grabbed her arm and pulled her back.

Elektra had heard, though, ears more preternaturally sharp than even Matt’s in her current form, and her head whipped around, eyes fixed straight on Karen’s hiding place. Frozen, Karen suddenly knew that every time when she’d been at risk before, whether from Fisk or the Hand, paled in comparison to what was approaching her. She was prey, unable to move under the gaze of the predator.

She was saved by the impossible. Out of nowhere, one of the two fighters who had been fending off the Hand before turned and made a single flying leap towards Elektra. Her attention to Karen had left her back open, and he landed behind her. She snapped around, but that was what he wanted; his fist suddenly glowed as bright as a lamp and he slammed it into her chest.

Elektra sailed even further than Matt had, landing not more than ten yards from where Karen and Alonzo were hidden. She struggled to rise, but the demonic figure that loomed overhead was once again twisting and morphing as the blue tried to overcome the red. Luke and Jessica were on her before the conflict could be resolved, each pinning down one of her arms. She began to struggle against them, and they might have lost, but the plan wasn’t over yet. The man who’d punched her – someone Karen had never seen, dressed in green with a simple yellow mask that reminded her of Matt’s old costume – came running and did… _something_ with his hands. They were glowing again, but this time it wasn’t concentrated in his own flesh as it had been with the punch. It centered on a strangely carved talisman he was holding in both hands, and he began to chant.

Karen might have made out the words, but Elektra began roaring worse than before, limbs writhing in ways human joints shouldn’t have allowed. The cloud began to shrink rapidly as the red light within glowed brighter and bloodier and the sinister face within it contorted in fury. Whatever the new man was doing with the dragon powers Claire attributed to him, it was hurting the thing inside Elektra. It retaliated, blasting lashes of energy towards the talisman and the man who wielded it. His costume began to tear and Karen saw blood and bruises on his face.

Slowly and surely, however, Elektra’s body was returning to normal as the entity shrunk further and further down before it finally disappeared into her form. Elektra shuddered and lay still. Karen couldn’t tell if she was alive or dead.

She quickly had more important things to worry about as, summoned by the demon’s bellows, every Hand in earshot began swarming into the clearing. Jess leapt up, joined by the last of their party and it was Trish. Obviously. The feline mask was not particularly good at hiding who she was. But when Trish started to fight, Karen was dumbfounded because krav maga alone should _not_ have made her that strong.

The Hand found the two of them too, of course, and Karen swung up her gun only to have it batted out of her hand by a twirling nunchaku. She and Alonzo backed away from the incoming gang, into the open and the sight of the defenders. They both broke into a run but didn’t manage to get very far in the crowd of ninjas. Karen felt an arm lash around her waist, a dagger against her throat between the helmet and vest, and she was certain it was the end. She saw Alonzo get grabbed too, likewise with a sword ready to kill him.

Instead of finishing them off, the man holding Karen barked at the Defenders, “Release the Black Sky! Or we kill them both!” He reached up and ripped Karen’s helmet off, and Jessica and Trish stopped immediately, shocked.

“Karen? What are you _doing_ here?” Jessica gasped.

“Silence! You have the Black Sky. I know you have not expelled the Beast from her. It is beyond your power.”

“Don’t listen to them,” Luke snapped. He was standing straddle-legged over Elektra’s prone body. “We let that thing out again and they’re dead anyway, along with everybody else in this city.”

“On my honor I swear we will let them run before we continue the ritual.”

“Your _honor_?” the talisman-wielding newcomer scoffed. “The Hand has no honor.”

“Then you get to watch them die before our numbers overwhelm you. There are only four of you. You’ve _lost_.”

Karen’s eyes flickered around. There weren’t as many Hand members as she’d expected – only about twenty or so still standing. Perhaps the police were giving them more of a challenge than she’d anticipated.

As she finished her head count, her gaze fell on Matt. He had risen from where he fell, but he wasn’t fully standing. Instead he crouched in the shadows, watching the scene intently. It dawned on her that he was _behind_ the circle of ninjas, and that he hadn’t been included by the speaker in that four. A plan suddenly sprung fully-formed in her head and she twisted her chin towards Alonzo. She saw Matt frown. Of course, he wanted to rescue her first.

“I’ll be fine,” Karen shouted. “Do whatever you need to do, don’t listen to their threats—”

“ _Urusai_ ,” her holder growled, lifting the knife ever-so-slightly from her throat to let her see it.

Karen saw her opening and dropped. Full weight, no pulling, just 150 pounds of skinny reporter, exactly as Frank had taught her. The instant she did so, a baton sped out of the shadows and struck the head of the ninja holding Alonzo so hard that his neck snapped. He dropped Alonzo without a word, sword glancing off the edge of his helmet as he went down.

The man who had Karen tried to return the knife to her throat, but she caught his wrist with her arms and pushed it away. It was not a battle she could win, as he was much stronger than her, but Jess was on him in a heartbeat, and Karen could hear a loud snap of bone as she bent his arm back.

Then it all turned to chaos. She heard a shout of “Civilians to the center!” from someone, and she and Alonzo were shoved towards Elektra’s body, surrounded by five fighters taking on four times their number to save their lives. Karen could barely follow the action as they swirled and wove. A shuriken sailed past her ear and hit Alonzo on the hand. He gasped in pain, and held it to his chest.

Karen spared a glance toward Elektra. There was still a strange red glow that occasionally laced under her skin, but when it did the talisman resting on her chest shimmered yellow. _She’s beautiful_ , Karen thought. She expected to be jealous, but instead she felt pity, for Matt, for Elektra, for everyone dragged into this mess against their will.

There was opening in the Hand, and the cry this time was “Run!” Luke hoisted Elektra over his shoulders and all of them began to flee, the remaining ninjas hot behind them.

“What is _happening_?” Alonzo managed to gasp as they raced along. “What did you do to her?”

The newcomer was breathing hard. “Contained it. Magic. I’m not very good at it. My skills are mostly centered on, you know,” he made a few feinted punching gestures. “It may not hold. We have to get her to safety.” This last part was addressed to Luke, who simply nodded.

They weren’t going fast enough. Matt may have survived Elektra’s strike, but his stumbling steps indicated he’d been hurt more than he’d let on. The ninjas quickly flanked them again, their numbers growing as more and more gave up their other tasks to retrieve their “Black Sky.”

Bullets, not blows, were what saved them. For a brief instant Karen had the crazy notion that Frank had come to their rescue, but no, it was the police, all of them, every free hand in New York City, and Karen had never been so glad to see them in her life. The Hand were falling left and right; even if the bullets wouldn’t ultimately kill them, they were decimating the numbers of those standing.

“Get to safety,” Matt ordered in her ear, and then they were all gone, disappearing into the free for all, taking Elektra with them.

It didn’t take long for it all to be over, at least temporarily, and when it was Karen and Alonzo became the most important witnesses in New York City history.

_“Tie them up_ ,” Alonzo insisted as a paramedic treated his hand. The two of them were sitting on the back of an ambulance. He jabbed a finger at a fallen ninja, a half-healed bullet wound still visible in his forehead. “She shot this man earlier and he managed to recover. They are _going_ to get back up again, you’ve got to believe me.”

“Did you recognize any of the people you say rescued you?” the officer continued, ignoring Alonzo’s demands.

“Didn’t really get a chance to see their faces,” Alonzo lied, effortlessly, and Karen tried to conceal her surprise as best she could. She tightened her lips and shook her head when the officer gave her an inquisitive glance.

“What about the…disturbance in the park? The cloud, the source of it—”

“Oh _that_ we got to see up close.” Alonzo tapped his camera. “This is something _brand_ new. I don’t know what it is, but it possessed a woman, took over her body. Those heroes you all are intent on arresting stopped it, saved all our lives.”

Someone had brought Karen a blanket and a cup of coffee, standard procedure for someone in shock. She didn’t feel shocked, though. The struggle in the park itself had been horrifying but right now, alive and surrounded by EMTs, the whole thing felt surreal, like a dream. Instead of fear she felt a strange exhiliration. She’d been threatened with death multiple times in the last hour, by forces greater than she’d ever faced, and survived in part by her own wits. The rest, with help from friends…

“They’re mine,” Alonzo said adamantly, clutching his camera with his good hand.

“They’re _evidence_ ,” the officer snapped back.

“And you will _get_ them once I copy them, give me a damn minute.” The officer backed off, hands in the air. Alonzo sighed and leaned in to Karen. “Okay, is he out of earshot?”

“I think so.”

“You know the Daredevil? Enough to know his name is _Matt_? And those other two, they recognized you.”

Karen sipped her coffee. “Deep background,” she finally said, awkwardly.

Alonzo broke out in a grin. “Damn, Page. That is wild. Do you know any other superheroes? Maybe Thor? Because that man is fine as hell and I would love to meet him. Oh, and that, by the way? Was me giving you a secret of _mine_ to let you know I’m keeping _yours_. I already deleted the photos where you can make out their faces.”

“Wow.” Karen fiddled with her cup. “Um, no, that’s it.” _Maybe one other…but Frank didn’t have powers so that didn’t count_. “He rescued me, when Union Allied tried to have me killed. The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, I mean. And Jessica Jones, she’s just a private investigator I hired once. I’d heard rumors about her, but…”

“Gotcha.” Alonzo flexed his hand and winced. “Do you think this is over? That guy with the headscarf didn’t sound too confident about it.”

“Your guess is good as mine.” Just then her phone dinged, on its quietest setting. As Alonzo pocketed his drive with the copied photos and went to deliver the camera, Karen dug it out, noticing for the first time that she’d yet to take off her body armor. It was her news alerts, set for the Punisher. TV had scooped the Bulletin on this one as she pulled up a webpage and clocked on the the video.

The scene played out on the ground from the overhead angle of a news helicopter. She watched images of a police transport vehicle, hijacked according to the news reporters, Fisk almost escaping until a van had appeared, armored, guns mounted on its side, strafing the transport’s walls, stopping it, a rocket striking the cab, guards spilling out, a gunfight as Frank emerged, Frank pulling Fisk from the van after he finished with the guards, leaned in as if speaking to him, then returning to the van just as a lone police car arrived and giving them one hell of a chase.

Fisk was back in custody. The distraction hadn’t worked, thanks to Frank. From a look at the text below the video, there were seven more bodies to add to Frank’s the list, but Karen figured that was worth it.

Before she had a chance to look much further, her cell rang, with an unlisted number. Was it Matt and the rest of them, calling to let her know they were okay? She hit the call accept button.

It wasn’t Matt after all. “Karen Page?” A heavily distorted voice buzzed in her ear.

“Micro?”

“Heh, you remember. Just thought you’d like a little tip. Councilman Reynard is about to flee the city. Maybe because he’s connected to the bomb that just detonated in the park—”

“Is that what they’re saying? Because that was no bomb—”

Micro ignored her. “He’s on his way to a private airfield, I’m sending you the address in a text.”

“Okay, but…why are you telling me all of this?”

“I think you know why.”

A ball of dread began to build in her stomach. “Okay. Okay, I-I’ll get going.” She ended the call, and looked around. Nobody was paying her much attention as they started to load up the bodies of the Hand. She had the perfect chance to slip away.

Before she could, though, Alonzo caught sight of her. “Hey, where are you going? What about our story?”

“I’ll write the draft on my way there. Send the pictures to Ellis. Right now, I have to stop a friend from doing something really stupid.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am back! And, I think, good to go for a little while. The next chapters should, at least, be out in fairly quick order, since I have parts of them written already. I've been dealing with some health stuff that has kept me from writing almost anything, here or on my other projects, but I've been feeling a lot better lately.


	24. Because you needed to try

 

>  In the second major attack on New York City in less than a decade, early police reports are blaming the incident on a terrorist attack, but no details have been forthcoming.
> 
> _The New York Bulletin_ was fortunate enough to have two reporters on scene to witness the attack first hand. While the exact nature of the groups involved remains unclear, this paper has photographic evidence of a new unexplained phenomenon, as well as the local heroes who helped prevent the attack from escalating.
> 
> The attack seems to have centered on an unidentified woman whose body was temporarily taken control of by an entity of possibly extraterrestrial origin…

It wasn’t her best work, too much speculation to print, but Ellison would clean it up in editing. Presuming, that is, that he’d gotten Alonzo’s pictures and actually believed her story.

Karen had offered to pay the driver a small fortune (at least by her standards) to pick up a barefoot woman on the night of a terrorist strike and drive all the way to an airfield in New Jersey. The bridges had been closed, but not the tunnel, apparently; some bureaucratic miscommunication, no doubt. When they arrived almost two hours later, he charged her an extra hundred more than they’d agreed on, and Karen could only bargain him down to seventy before deciding she didn’t have time to argue, and swiped her credit card.

The small private airfield Reynard had chosen had a front office by its gate, and there was a lone elderly woman with permed hair sitting at the desk when Karen rushed in. “Yes, just stay inside, I’m watching it on my phone they say the police have it…handled…” Her jaw slowly dropped and her eyes widened as she took in Karen’s bedraggled appearance. “Um, yeah, I’ll call you back later.”

Karen did her best to adjust her hair and jacket as she cleared her throat. “I’m Karen Page, with the Bulletin.” She fumbled out her press card. “I need to know if there are any flights leaving in the next few hours.”

“Oh honey, none that you can get on. I know it’s crazy out there tonight, but—”

“N-not for me, I’m looking for someone I need to get a statement from, immediately.”

The office clerk leaned back in her chair and drummed her knotted fingers on the arms. “The people who use this airfield do it because they know we respect their privacy.”

“I’m sure you do, most of the time, but tonight?” Karen shrugged and waved her arms feebly. “I need you to throw me a bone, okay? I just got out of ground zero for the latest attack on New York City, and I know that Councilman Reynard was at _least_ tangential involved in it happening. So if you care about this city at all, _please_ , tell me whether he’s on a flight out of here tonight!”

The woman gave her a long look, but it was soft and almost pitying. “I suppose it’s too late anyway – the flight’s to leave in less than half an hour and he just went out to the runway to meet him.”

“Th-that’s plenty of time! Let me in and I can catch up with him!”

“ _That_ I can’t do, sweetie. I need this job and people without tickets are not allowed through our security.”

Karen cursed and her mind scrambled, trying to think what her next step would be. If she couldn’t warn Reynard directly, or place herself in between him and a bullet, then she’d have to figure out where Frank would choose as a sniping position. “Okay. Thanks, that’s a start.”

She’d turned to go, when the woman called her back. “Miss? These have been in our lost and found for a good year now, I don’t know if they’ll fit, but it looks like you could use them.” She held a pair of moth-eaten shoes, a sympathetic expression on her face. Karen took them with a thank you and put them on. They were a little too tight in the toes, but even so her feet were glad for the protection.

Outside, she scanned the area, searching for either a way to scale the fence or a likely lookout. A possibility presented itself almost immediately in a decrepit-looking parking garage less than fifty yards down the fence, probably built at a more successful era for the airfield. It seemed little-used now, but Karen could swear she saw something – or someone – move on the rooftop.

If it was the wrong guess, then she couldn’t spare the wasted time, but something in her gut made her decide to take the gamble. Karen sped toward the garage as best as her tired legs and hobbled feet could carry her. As she neared it, a thought occurred to her. The air was eerily still this far out of town, with just the sound of night insects in the air. Nearing the entrance of the garage, Karen pulled out her phone and dialed Frank’s number. Almost imperceptibly, from high above, a generic phone jingle range.

He answered almost immediately. “Not now.”

Karen ignored him and found the stairwell. “I thought you might want to know that I was safe, with everything that’s going on. I saw your handiwork on the news. A shame I was too busy to cover it.”

“Let me guess, you saw an explosion and ran straight towards it?”

“Pretty much.” She wondered if her ragged breath would give away that she was climbing stairs.

“I’m sure it’ll be a good story later.” He hung up without warning and Karen swore again. There was still another landing left to go, and she felt exhausted. Panic powered her up the steps even faster and she slammed the door open to the top of garage with a gasp.

Frank spun around, aiming his gun directly at her, and for a moment time seemed to freeze. She hadn’t startled him enough for him to pull the trigger; instead he dropped the barrel of the sniper rifle and twisted his face into a grimace of frustration that quickly faded into resignation.

“Micro sent you?”

Karen held up her hands apologetically. “Listen, Frank, he did the right thing, okay? I-I-I know this sounds like a good idea, getting justice for all those people, believe me, I _saw_ the bodies, but…but this isn’t the way to do it.”

“Why not?”

“Because…because we have a case against him!”

“And he’s about to leave your jurisdiction.” Frank gestured brusquely for her to approach and she moved beside him, peering down past the ledge towards a small plane on the tarmac. He handed her a pair of binoculars and through them she could see Reynard and a small cadre of his staff dragging baggage towards the stairs leading on board. “That plane’s headed for the Cayman Islands to pick up some cash, then on to Venezuela and its habit of ignoring extradition.”

“There’s still time, though.” She dropped the binoculars and looked hard at Frank, who was returning his rifle to its sniping position. “The-the Caymans, he has to stop there—”

“By the time you get a warrant, he’ll be long gone. Besides,” and here he leaned in to peer through his scope, “even if the cops were on their way right now, I’d still blow his head off for making tonight happen. And that’s why you’re really here.”

“What?”

“To tell me why I shouldn’t.”

His directness left her flummoxed. “I-if you can avoid killing a person, generally that’s the way to go—”

“Says _you_. I call this justice.”

“He’s got _kids_ , Frank! Little children, I’ve seen the photos, you’d be killing their dad!”

“The ones he had with that mistress and keeps hidden away? Not much of a dad to lose.”

“Maybe, but he’s still _theirs_. You can’t just… _do_ that to children, I know you can’t.”

Frank only hesitated for a breath. “They down there with him?”

“No, those are just some of his staff—”

“They’re about to see what their boss’s brains look like unless you can come up with something better. Everybody’s got a mom or a dad or a brother or a sister or some sucker who loves them because they don’t know what kind of monster they are. I’m sure their mom’ll keep them from seeing the photos.”

“Then don’t because…” Karen licked her lips, frantic. “Because he’s dying. He’s got terminal cancer, he’s going to be dead anyway, just…let him waste away naturally.”

“And die all comfortable in a hospital, palliative care and everything? No, this is better.” He adjusted the tilt of the gun and from the furrow of his brow, she knew he was ready to fire.

 _Am I going to have to physically stop him?_ She was certain she couldn’t. “Frank, _please_!” Her voice cracked. “Why even _ask_ me if nothing is going to change your mind? If I can’t stop you?”

“Because you needed to try.”

She recoiled at the noise when he fired, and everything seemed to slow down. Karen swung the binoculars back up to her eyes. Down on the tarmac she saw Reynard’s body drop, then a few moments later she could hear the screams reach them through the still night. People were rushing to where he’d fallen, and Karen could do nothing but stare at the scene playing out below. She didn’t know how long it was before she was finally able to let the binoculars drop, to stop watching.

Frank, meanwhile, started to disassemble his the gun as if nothing had happened. As if this was normal.

Which it was, to him. He was the Punisher, this is what he did, and it wasn’t just the gunshot making her ears ring, it was the blood flowing away from her head trying to make her stop thinking, stop feeling, stop realizing that she’d just stood by and watched someone commit murder. Not self-defense, not stopping someone in the middle of a crime, just…he murdered him. And she hadn’t been able to come up with a reason to convince him not to.

 “Dammit, Frank,” she whispered.

His eyes met hers and he took the binoculars out of her hands gently. “You know what I do,” he said quietly.

She shook her head. “That doesn’t mean I want to see it.”

“But you should. ’Cause this is me, alright? This is what I _do_. Knowing I _can_ is what gets me up in the morning.” He slung the gun over his shoulder. “We need to get off this roof, they’ll figure out where the shot came from.”

Her feet were frozen to the ground. With a sigh, he grabbed her arm, pulled her to the rooftop access and dragged her behind him as they descended the stairs. Karen’s mind still felt like it was off somewhere else, ignoring the present. She watched Frank, desperate for some sign he was upset, even if it was with her, but his face hadn’t changed from its grim determination.

As they reached the bottom of the steps, he let her go and gestured to the exit sign. “Get going, you should be safe.”

“I’m not leaving.”

“You should.”

“I _won’t_.” Her voice sounded like a stubborn child’s, but she wasn’t going to back down.

“Shit…” Now he looked irritated, finally. Any emotional reaction was better than watching him be indifferent. “ _Why_? Why do this to yourself? You stay with me, this is what happens, understand? Don’t come after me, don’t try to stop me. I didn’t ask for this… _relationship_ , it was your idea.”

“I know that! Of _course_ I know that! Maybe I do it because I _worry_ about you, Frank? Because I’m scared of what you’re turning into, that the-the good man I _know_ is still inside you, keeping you steady, is going to get snuffed out someday unless _some_ one tries to hold you back.”

He rolled his eyes. “Oh, don’t give me that shit…”

“No. No, you are not pushing me away again, Frank, not this time!” Clarity was starting to return. “You said I needed to try to stop you; well, _you_ needed me to try, too. To make it your _choice_ , to make it be something you control. Because if you don’t have to _think_ before you pull the trigger, then you’re right back to the angry murderer on a rampage you were when you started this.”

That earned her a long stare. “Maybe you’re right.” His voice was quiet again. “Maybe. But I still think…we need a break, okay? You understand me? This, us, we’re getting too close, it’s getting too personal. We’re going to wreck each other if we keep doing this.”

“I don’t care,” she said, recklessly, and grabbed his collar, pulling him in to kiss her. For an awful, _awful_ minute it was exactly the way it had been before, with Frank grabbing her waist and bringing her close, as she ground her hips against his and he moved his hands towards her thighs. Awful because he pulled back suddenly, shaking, not meeting her eyes.

“Look, you don’t get it, all right? Everything about me, you think you understand it, but you don’t. That good man you like so much, the man I was, that’s who you really want, and I get that, okay? But the thing is, if that was still me? I wouldn’t want _you_. I know exactly the kind of woman I’d be with, because I was married to her for _ten fucking years_.”

Karen flinched.

“You think I want you _in spite_ of knowing what you’ve done?” He stepped in closer and raised his eyes to hers again. “I want you _because_ you’ve killed two people and don’t feel a bit of guilt about it. Because you help me on missions to kill people just like that scumbag. Because I know you won’t help the police catch me even after seeing all of that.” He tapped a finger against the skull on his chest. “And unless it’s the Punisher you want, not Frank Castle, well. Like I said. We need a break.” He took a deep breath. “I’m not going change back, Karen. And I don’t want to hurt you.”

 _What am I supposed to say?_ “We had a deal. About Fisk.”

“I’m keeping my word, I won’t kill anyone in the Fisk case. But I did my bit. You finish it on your own now, think this all through. Oh, and sorry for this, but you won’t have to lie.”

He shoved her, hard enough to send her flying backward into the wall. Her legs jellified and she slumped to the ground, stunned as Frank pushed the exit door to the street open and disappeared with only final unreadable glance at her.

Her confusion at his violence vanished when a squad of four police officers charged into the stairwell mere seconds later. _You won’t have to lie_. “The Punisher, he-he came down the steps and shoved me down and went out that door—”

The first three barely nodded before racing out the door to find Frank. The fourth stopped long enough to help her to her feet and confirm that she was all right before following them. Thank God for an overtaxed police force not prepared to keep tags on all the witnesses.

Her toes were cramping even worse in her poorly-fitted shoes as she trudged back towards the front office. The gates to the airfield were flung wide open now as emergency vehicles whipped through. She could see the clerk answering questions to gathered officers, wringing her hands. No one noticed when Karen trespassed onto private property.

It was a long, numb trudge to the airplane. Reynard’s body had been near the foot of the steps when Frank had shot him, and a ring of police and medical personnel were already gathered. Karen could hear a staff member crying loudly; her eyes focused long enough to recognize the in-house nurse she’d seen with the other Bulletin staff. There was blood on her blouse.

Damn it. Dammit, dammit, _dammit_.

Someone finally noticed her standing there, stupidly, and a police officer approached her. “Ma’am?”

“Karen Page,” she said, her mouth on autopilot. “From the Bulletin.”

“Okay, we don’t have space for press here right now, you’ll have to step back.” He glanced over her disheveled clothes, obviously skeptical of her credentials.

“I’m not here to report anything. Not—I mean I _am_ , but not like that. He…” she gestured to Reynard. To his corpse. She could see him clearly, she realized. Half the head was missing. “He was one of a list of men published by my newspaper for his involvement with the Asano Group. Here,” and she pulled out her phone, “here’s the article.”

“Right, well, step aside, we’ll be looking into motive.”

“No!” she snapped. “You need to get police protection on these people, _now_. Don’t you get it? He killed Reynard, he’s going to kill the rest of them, because they helped Asano, and Asano committed the attack tonight.”

“ _Who’s_ going to kill them?”

“Sniper rifle? One shot to the head? Who do you _think_?”

The officer nodded slowly. “Okay. Okay, okay. Um,” he glanced around. “I’ll tell someone, just…just stay here.”

For the first time that evening, Karen actually obeyed that order. She sat down on the asphalt and watched the scene unfold. It was getting lighter. It would be dawn soon. She’d been out the whole night. Had it really only been that morning that she’d had eggs with Frank? It felt like a lifetime.

She wasn’t wrong, she knew that, He needed her there. Needed someone to tell him to stop, even if he didn’t want her there, even if he chose to ignore her.

But he wasn’t wrong either.

 _He got me Fisk. Now I have to make sure we keep him. And for right now…I have to do it without him_.


	25. [Postludes]

David saw Castle jump into the driver’s seat on the dash cam. He looked about as upset as David expected. “I heard on the police scanner – she didn’t talk you out of it, I guess.”

“You shouldn’t’ve done that,” Castle growled, starting the car engine. The wheels squealed – the police must be close behind him.

“Why not?”

“What, you wanted Reynard to get away with this shit?”

“Oh, of course not. I’ll dance on his grave, gladly. But this plan of yours is still stupid.” When his friend refused to respond, he went on. “They’re all too high profile, Castle. You’re asking for trouble—oh hey look, sirens. My argument is made.” Castle stepped on the gas as the wail got louder. “And I figured she couldn’t talk you out of it, but she knows you well enough to figure out you’re going after everyone else. And if she gives the police some warning…”

“She wouldn’t.” Castle’s voice was adamant, but a look of doubt crossed his eyes.

“She would. Because she knows this is stupid just like I do. For God’s sake, Castle, _let the cops handle some of this_. We’ve still got other fish to fry. Russo, remember? Nobody honest suspects him, he’s bribed the men who did – that’s our ballgame, not this open/shut work.”

He thought for a moment that the Punisher was ignoring him, but from the look of concentration on his face, David realized he was just focused on getting away. He watched the GPS tracker as Castle drove away…further into New Jersey. He was going the wrong direction if he wanted to make any more hits – but the right way if he wanted to avoid the cops.

David monitored the news feeds on Castle’s activities until the sound of sirens vanished over his connection. There was silence, but finally, “Look, maybe you’ got a point—”

“Of course I do.”

“—but you didn’t have to get _her_ involved.”

There was a touch of pain in his voice, and David felt a pang of regret. “I’m sorry. I just figured she could get through to you maybe even more than I could.”

“Well, it’s over. Her and me. For right now, anyway. I’m sick of watching her suffer over me.”

“You’ve said that before, and you keep going back.”

“I know.” Castle sighed, and on the tracker he watched as the van began to turn in the direction of a safe house they’d set up outside of the city. “And I know I will. But not right now. Not while she’s…not right now.”

* * *

 

Jessica couldn’t help but grin. She shouldn’t have, really, not after what she’d seen tonight, not with Tricia passed out on the sofa, not with Red Pajamas watching over his still half-possessed girlfriend in the other room. But the faces Danny was making as Claire patched him up were too amusing.

“I’m fine, really, _ow_ , look, I went through worse in, _ouch_ , Kunlun, and, _aiyo_ , do you really have to strap the bandages that tightly?”

“Yes, so quit your yapping.” The nurse tucked the last one in and sat back on her haunches with a sigh. “Do none of you superhero types care about your well-being? Because in case tonight didn’t make it clear, this city _needs_ you, and it’ll only _have_ you if you keep yourselves in one piece.” She stood up and smacked Luke on the shoulder. “And don’t _you_ laugh, you keep relying on that unbreakable skin of yours and I’ll be having to stick another needle in your eye before too long.”

“Yes ma’am,” he chuckled and patted her on the back as she gathered her things.

“Thank you, Claire, really,” Jessica said from her chair. “You don’t want to stay for a bit? We found booze in the fridge?”

“I’d love to, just to hear from you all what happened, but I’ve got to get to work. Tending to superpowered vigilantes doesn’t pay the bills.”

“That could change,” Danny said, poking at her work admiringly. “I could afford to hire you full time—”

“— _if_ you get the rest of your fortune back,” Luke said. He waved to Claire as she slipped out and slumped into a chair next to Jessica’s and across from Danny. The safe house was three small rooms, and the main one between the bathroom and bedroom was cluttered with old furniture – someone had been using it as a dumping ground for chairs and sofas before Luke had reclaimed it.

Jessica spared a glance for Tricia’s sleeping form and felt a renewed mix of anger and guilt. Anger that Trish had found more of those damn pills Simpson had used, mad that she’d kept it from her…and guilt that she knew Trish had only done it to be helpful to her. _She wants to be me so badly, the idiot_. Fortunately the downer pill had simply made her pass out this time rather causing cardiac arrest.

She only half-heard Luke talking to Danny. “So what _is_ it with you and your family?”

“With the Rands? There really isn’t much to that side of my tree, and the Meachums took over after our plane went down.”

“But your mom’s side, they couldn’t take you in? You can’t keep crashing at my place forever.”

“Well, I’ve just to prove I’m me, and then I should be fine. Claire said you knew lawyers?”

It took a moment for Jessica to realize he was addressing her. “Oh? Yeah, some of the best. If you can convince Jerri that you’re you first, she might do it for the right promised price.”

“I’ve got the same set of fingerprints I had at birth, ten years in a dimensional pocket didn’t change that.”

“Dimensional pocket…” Jessica rubbed her temples. “Why does my life just keep getting weirder?”

Luke wasn’t so easily distracted. “You keeping ducking me asking about your family. Is there bad blood? Just say so and I’ll back off…”

“No! Just…” Danny sighed and massaged his fractured ribs and bandaged burns. “I don’t know, I got this idea as a kid that I had to _choose_ , you know? White or Asian, and I got sick of friends making jokes about fried rice and kung-fu and I sort of cut that out of my life. I don’t know if I could back to them now that—”

“—you’re a mystical kung-fu master?”

“From a place straight out of Chinese mythology to boot.” He gave a lopsided smile. “Believe me, the irony has not passed my notice.”

Jessica got up and opened the cooler to pass around three beers. “What I don’t get is how that talisman _worked_. You just said a bunch of words, are they like an activation code for the technology?”

“Nope. Magic. It’s a real thing – well, not exactly like you see it in Harry Potter, but still, a thing. The guy I called, Strange, he can explain it better than me. I don’t know if he can completely fix Elektra, but he can manage better than my patch job. Now,” he stood up, creaking his limbs as he rose, “I need to take a little break for a moment.”

“What, to realign your chakras or something?”

“More like realign my bladder. I haven’t peed since this mission began.”

As Danny stumbled off to the tiny bathroom, Jessica realized that she was now alone with Luke for the first time since…well, since Kilgrave. Her stomach twisted and she drank her beer, trying not to notice the heavy awkwardness that had settled over the room with Danny’s departure.

Luke spoke first. “That was some crazy shit out there tonight.”

“I know, right? Yeah.”

More silence. “You did good.” He didn’t meet her eyes. “We…we make a good team.”

Jessica’s grip tightened on her bottle. “You don’t have to say that, Luke. I don’t deserve it.”

“No, you don’t.” He was blunt, but there was no malice in his voice. “That don’t change the fact that you have skills we needed tonight, skills we will probably need in the future.” He took a drink, then took a deep breath. “You are one seriously messed up woman, Jessica Jones, and you’ve got a long way to go before things’ll ever be right between us. But that doesn’t mean you don’t have it in you to be a Defender.”

She realized she was tearing up and blinked hard. “Thanks,” she managed to mumble.

Luke gave a weak smile and held up his bottle for her to tap it.

It was a start.

* * *

 

She awoke from a nightmare that had been all too real. Her breath came out in gasps as her eyes rolled around, unable to concentrate. It was still there. _It was still there_ , inside her, creeping around, under her skin. She began to claw at herself, trying to pull it out, until a pair of hands caught her wrists.

“Elektra! It’s over. You’re safe.”

Matthew. Her light. Her center. She felt a sob wrack her body. She remembered. She’d almost killed him.

“It’s okay.” He lifted her up into an embrace, but she couldn’t bring herself to return it.

“No…you can’t, I’m not…” her voice was hoarse. “I’m not safe.”

“Not yet. We’re working on a solution.”

“No!” She pushed out of his arms. “It’s not the _thing_ , Matthew, it’s _me_. It used my feelings, my anger, my bloodlust. Everything I did was something…was something I could have done. That’s why it chose me, I’m not safe—”

“Would you have chosen to do any of that if it hadn’t taken you?”

“I…” Elektra hugged herself.

 _I wouldn’t have. Would I? No. I was good once._ She could remember what that was like, selflessness, courage. It had felt right.

 “It took my _body_ , Matthew.” She could barely speak. “It took my body.”

“I know.” He touched her cheek. “But it doesn’t have you any more.”

Then he kissed her, and she felt a fire inside that was entirely her own, stronger than the demon still smoldering in her soul. He kissed her, and gave her body back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...because it's my fic, and I can pretend it takes place in an alternate universe where Lewis Tan got the role of Danny...


	26. You have to make them talk

Tony Stark’s delivery was as smooth as the silk of his tie. “Well, obviously Stark Industries intends to help in the cleanup and recovery of New York City just as we did last time – along with Damage Control, of course – but clearly greater efforts need to be made to _prevent_ these tragedies from striking our great city.”

“Mr. Stark!” A hand shot up from the press pool. “Do you have any answer for the reports of bodies coming back to life from the crime scene?”

His eyes widened in the perfect imitation of surprise. “Bodies? Coming back to _life_? This is the first time _I’ve_ heard of anything—”

“Is Stark Industries hiding them from us?”

“Excuse me, what are you? _Weekly World News_? I knew I’d heard you guys had restarted online.” That got a few chuckles, which he talked over. “Look, this is in the government’s hands now, if you want more details about the events that took place, _they’re_ the ones you need to be talking to.”

He was starting to step away from the podium when another question rang out. “Mr. Stark, do you know the identities of the mysterious ‘Defenders’ that saved the city? Have they made any contact with the Avengers.”

A shadow passed over the mogul’s face. “We’re not the Avengers anymore. And no, I haven’t heard anything from them. Though of course I hope they _do_ come forward with their identities and sign the Sokovia Accords – once we’ve renegotiated them, anyway…”

And with that the interview quickly shifted to the restructured Accords, so Karen sighed and turned off her TV, eventually lying down and lifting her feet to rest them on the arm of her sofa.

It was only the second day and she was already thoroughly bored.

Ellison had put both her and Alonzo on a mandatory week of paid vacation, ostensibly as a reward for their good work in bringing the Bulletin its biggest story of all time, but since their boss’s behind-the-doors response to their story had been more or less a tongue-lashing, they both knew it was a slap on the wrist for being reckless as well. Alonzo had decided to take it in the spirit of a reward and was off with his boyfriend who he promised he’d introduce to Karen at some point. But Karen herself was broke until the next payday and all of _her_ friends were busy. Or avoiding her, as Frank was.

Thus she instead had stayed at home watching other people report on the news, an experience she didn’t like in the least. She tried reading more of the book club's choice for that month - _Bel Canto_ , by Ann Pratchett - but she had trouble focusing on the words long enough to get through more than a page or two at a time. She just didn’t care about wealthy businesspeople in South America getting held hostage by revolutionaries right now. All it did was remind her of the chaos in the park that revisited her unexpectedly late in the night. All it did was make her think of the _real_ news she could be covering.

For example, Fisk’s trial, which Stantacki had been assigned to for the time being. Maybe that was for the best. She could cue him in on Olmos, maybe tell him at their book group meeting, where Ellison wouldn't overhear, avoid getting flack for undertaking yet another unasked for assignment…Karen rubbed her temples. The Hand was now at least partly the responsibility of people with far more resources than the Defenders, but instead of being a relief, it just made her realize how unsettled things still were with Fisk. No one had come after her, so she hoped that Padmore hadn't told anything to Donovan, but she still didn't like not knowing if Fisk was onto their recruitment of Olmos, or if Matt's cover had been blown.

It didn’t help that Matt and Jess had each sent a single “I’m fine” response to her texts, then subsequently ignored all further messages.

 _I am the token normal in this circle_ , she thought, then decided that wasn’t true. There was Foggy, after all, who wasn’t a murderer or a co-conspirator with the most wanted man in America, or all of the things that made her distinctly _ab_ normal.

Foggy. There was an idea. He’d been working with Blake Tower all day yesterday, but maybe he’d be free to get her mind off of things? Karen had a great many things she didn’t want to be thinking about.

“What does it feel like, being the most famous reporter on the planet?” Farington’s was packed, and Foggy said he could only stay for an hour, so they were standing by the window holding their drinks and talking low enough to avoid eavesdroppers.

“Not as much fun as you’d think. For starters, people know my name but not my face, so I don’t exactly have crowds demanding my autograph. And…” She trailed off.

“And…?”

“The things I reported on, to get me famous? Were the stuff of nightmares, and thus I have not slept so well the last few nights.”

“Aw, Page.” Foggy frowned in sympathy and put a hand on her shoulder.

She shrugged. “I’ve been through so much the last few years, I don’t know, it all starts to blend together in my head. Fisk, the Hand, Matt…”

“The Punisher?”

“Him too.” _Though not always the way you’d expect, Foggy_. Last night she’d dreamed his body had been found and she had been assigned to report on it. She hadn’t felt that kind of grief since her brother’s death, and she’d woken up crying.

“You know…” Foggy hesitated. “You can get help for that kind of thing…”

Karen wished they had a table so she could slam her drink in a show of indignation. “God, why does _everyone_ keep telling me to go see a shrink?” She waved a hand. “I know, I know, it’s because I need one, I know. But can we change the subject, maybe? To something happier, like our impending victory against Fisk’s appeal?”

“Gotcha.” He gave her a soft smile and said, “Well, Tower thinks Olmos has turned the entire case into a slam dunk. Not just his testimony, but that letter Fisk had sent to him. Matt said he’s been staking out the safe house where Olmos and his girlfriend are being held just to be on the safe side—”

“He said that? He called you? I haven’t spoken to him since…since that night…”

“Um, I got the message via Jess. I think Matt himself is a bit…preoccupied…”

“With Elektra.”

He sighed. “Since you’re the one who brought it up, yes. I know you and Matt had a thing—”

“That ended a long time ago.” And she meant it this time - seeing Elektra that night had somehow washed away the last of her resentment, had given her the resolution she’d needed.

“Right, but you still probably don’t want to hear about…” Foggy tugged at the collar of his suit.

“What did Jess say?”

“Well, her exact words were, ‘Apparently he’s trying to’ um… ‘ _screw_ the demon out of her,’ had to edit the language there, but I think she might be exaggerating—”

Karen started laughing and shook her head at his surprise. “Like I said, it ended and…he loves her. I don’t feel jealous, just…happy he’s happy?”

“As much as Matt Murdock is capable of letting himself _be_ happy, anyway. She said the _actual_ demon exterminator is coming today, to try to either extract it or to seal it away and it just hit me that I am having an actual serious real-life conversation about demons, why doesn’t this feel weirder?” He shook his head in dismay and took another drink.

“Weird is the status quo now. I can’t remember who said that…”

“Neil DeGrasse Tyson, I think, in one of those science programs they ran right after the Chitauri attack. I haven’t heard him make a statement on _this_ one yet, though. Do you think it’s true Stark and the government snagged all the Hand bodies?”

“I _hope_ they did, to be honest. Maybe they can figure out a better way to fight them.”

“And now we’re back to you revisiting the park. No, don’t try to deny it, I can see it on your face. Do you have anything, I don’t know, less serious to talk about? You’re in a book group, right? What have you been reading?”

“B _el Canto_ , technically, but…God I’m not even a quarter of the way through it…Dwayne says you can still come even if you don’t finish, but I guess I’m scared that, well, like you said, I’m the world’s most famous reporter now, and what if, like, these acquaintances of mine, they don’t handle the weird as well as all of you do? I-I just want to still be me, to keep some part of myself intact in…all of this.”

Foggy’s mouth opened, then he paused and shut it. “Nevermind, you said—”

“I know I have to talk to someone, Foggy. And I will. I promise.”

She was telling Foggy the truth for once. She called ahead the next morning to arrange a meeting, instead of just dropping in like last time, and Father Lantom was waiting for her in his office with a cup of water ready when she arrived.

“I’m sorry if I’m taking time away from your parishioners…”

“Oh don’t worry about that, they don’t come to confession as often as they should anyway. Besides, how could I pass up the chance to talk to one of the few people to see a certified demon up close?”

After a few more stilted formalities, Karen told him almost everything – probably more than he wanted to know, given how his eyebrows went up when she explained the idea of a “benefits package.” Maybe she’d wanted to shock him, to test whether his Catholic morality would rear its ugly head if she confessed to what her parents had always called “fornicating.” But he hadn’t stopped her and she went on until her confrontation with Frank at the airport.

After she finished, he peeked his fingers together and stared pensively at the floor for nearly a minute. When he looked back at her, the priest’s expression was a mix of concern but also wry humor. “Didn’t I tell you to take _less_ on yourself, Ms. Page?”

Karen laughed bitterly. “I know, but…it’s been going so _well_ , and I’ve been working with everyone, together, and that was horrifying, yes, but it ended well, I-I-I feel like it was an accomplishment. The only thing that’s a total disaster is…Frank. I don’t know what to do about him and…well, I don’t know who else to talk to…” She let it trail off with a limp shrug.

“Well, from what you said, he told you what to do. Take some time off and figure out whether this is what the both of you really want. Far be it from me to agree with the Punisher, but that’s not a bad idea, Karen.”

She threw up her hands in exasperation. “I just don’t… _get_ what it is he wants from me! I-I-I know that there are things that will probably always keep a space between us, th-that it would be hard sometimes, that’s why I said we could be casual. But it’s like he wants all or nothing. Why can’t we just…do what we were doing and see how it goes?”

“I think that’s easier for you than for him.”

Karen scoffed. “Isn’t the guy the one who’s supposed to take things less seriously?”

“Not if he’s the one who’s been _married_ ,” Lantom reminded her. “How long were he and his wife together?”

 _It always comes back to Maria_. Of course it did. “Almost eleven years, I think—”

“And I supposed he didn’t have a lot of girlfriends other than her?”

“She was his only one, but—”

“There you have it," he cut in again. “Casual relationships are normal to _you_. A serious commitment where two people agree to have each other’s’ backs no matter what from the outset is what’s normal to _him_. It’s what he’s used to, and it’s what he wants.”

Karen’s nerves were up from him interrupting her, and she could feel her voice rising. “Well, yeah, right, I’d like that too, but sometimes you just have to wake up and admit that you’re too broken to have a normal relationship and y-y-you just have to settle for what you can get!”

The silence in the room after her outburst was pin drop-worthy. Father Lantom simply watched her as the realization of what she’d just said turned Karen’s expression into one of horror. She clapped a hand over her mouth, and he passed her a box of tissues before she started crying.

As she got it out of her system, he stood up to refill her cup of water, which she took gladly. “I’m sorry,” she said between sobs and gulps of water. “I shouldn’t have said that, I don’t mean that _he’s_ —”

“I know who you meant,” he said quietly, folding his arms across his chest. After another long pause, “Do you want to tell me about it?”

Karen tossed her crumpled up Kleenexes into his trash can one by one. When the last had fallen in, she sighed. “My…my brother was killed by a drunk drive. When I was seventeen. And I got mad and I…I shot the guy who killed him.”

She glanced at Lantom, but the old priest’s face was inscrutable.

“My parents…they’d never exactly been the kindest people before, but after that…nothing I could do could prove to them that I’d repented enough. Maybe they could tell I didn’t really feel that bad about killing him, I don’t know. I _tried_ to feel bad, but it wasn’t enough. Every day in their house when I was on parole was just…constant reminders that this was a-a-a thing I could never ever live down, that it would haunt me for the rest of my life. That nobody would ever forgive me for it. It was worse than when they used to just, you know…beat me.”

Karen waited again for his reaction, but he simply gestured for her to go on.

“I…I like to think I’ve gotten past all that. I mean, I don’t take any of their stupid advice about anything or else I’d be staying at home keeping my knees together and praying for a godly husband to find me, and most of the time…most of the time I’m happy, but there are days…there are days when I wonder if they were right.” Her voice caught in her throat. “That I’m never going to really have that kind of a relationship, with anyone, that it’s the punishment I have to accept for what I did.” She looked down at her hands, holding them side by side. “I guess a part of me was hoping that even though Frank and I were broken in different ways, maybe our edges would still line up.” She moved her hands together and frowned. “But I guess not.”

After he waited until he was sure she was finally done, Father Lantom took a deep breath and shifted in his chair. His eyes were fixed on something invisible over her shoulder, his brow furrowed. “It’s true that you two aren’t the same. I suppose it surprises me that you would see yourself in him, but the ability to empathize is part of what I was talking about with love the last time you were here. To me it seems that Frank wants to _embrace_ the darker side of himself, while you struggle _against_ it.”

Karen nodded. “That’s what he always said. He said it’s why I’m a good person, he’d make me say that to myself when I was feeling bad, I’m a good person.”

The priest smiled. “Huh, the Punisher continues to surprise me. Well,” and here he uncrossed his arms and looked her squarely in the eyes. “All right, unless you want to say a few Our Fathers on your way out for the sexual misdemeanors, that is my first piece of spiritual advice to you – keep telling yourself that. That you are a _good_ person. Even if you have to imagine Frank Castle’s voice telling you to do it, that’s a good message to keep in your head.”

Karen nodded again.

“And as for Frank, you may need to admit that you’ve reached your limit, at least for now, and let go.”

There was a long pause. Karen’s mouth twitched into something like a smile. “I was kind of waiting for you to add ‘and let God’ there…”

He grimaced. “Ugh, no, I _hate_ that saying. God gave us free will, what _I’m_ saying is let Frank Castle use his, all right? Wait and see how things are between you after some time off. In the meantime,” here he took another deep breath, “if I can be so bold, I think _you_ need to start exorcising some of the demons your parents left you.”

“Do you mean that metaphorically or are we talking holy water and floating beds? Or talismans, since that’s how the dragon guy handled it in Central Park…”

“The extradimensional entity in the Park wasn’t really what I was thinking of. More like…” He fumbled for a moment, as though trying to come up with a translation for some alien concept. “There’s this quote I like, from a Japanese Catholic writer of the last century. He said that sin is not what most people think it is, like stealing or lying – or in your case, drinking and sex. Sin, he wrote, is for one man to walk brutally over the life of another and to be quite oblivious to the wounds he has left behind.”

That struck a note of truth in her so clear it ached. Father Lantom must have seen it in her eyes because he reached across to touch her hand.

“From the little you’ve told me, what your parents did to you was _evil_ , Karen. Much more evil than any of the things they tried to warn you away from. That kind of evil leaves traces of itself behind. Call it demons, call it trauma, it’s all every bit as real as a physical wound. And if you read stories about casting out demons in the Bible, the first thing you do is, you have to make them _talk._ ”

 _He makes it sound easy…_ She held up her cup. “I’m going to need something stronger than water if we’re going to do that.”

Father Lantom got up and fished in a drawer of his desk. He pulled out a small bottle. “I hope you don’t mind sherry?”

“Ooh, fancy.” Karen held out the cup and let him pour her a drink. She sipped it as he returned to his seat across from her. “You…promise this still won’t end with you giving me a copy of the Catholic catechism, right?”

“How would that help? It’ll end with me saying we should meet again soon, have another drink, and I’ll listen to any more horror stories you want to get off your chest.”

“Gotcha.” _You have to make them talk_. Karen thought hard for a long while, trying to decide where to start. Lantom waited her out patiently until she settled on the best place to begin.

“When I was four years old I was playing at a friend’s house. We had dolls out, and I made the daddy doll push the mommy doll and call her a whore. My friend’s mom was freaked out by that - understandable, right? A-and she confronted my parents when they came to pick me up. They denied everything, of course, said I saw it on TV and they’d make sure to be careful what they watched in front of me from now on. When I got home…my dad was furious.” She took a sip of her sherry. “That was the first time he ever hit me…”


End file.
